Shall I search for him on the internet? Shall I not? I don't know yet. I remember our conversation we had last week as though it was today. He calls himself, Zander. He's cool. He's five eleven. He has dirty blonde hair. He and I play tennis together after his shift at that coffee shop.
I feel as though our friendship only lasted no longer than a week. Oh wait that's because it did. People say that it's better to stay friends. Well I now know. Thanks for the heads up, World.
- Hello, how May I help you? He says
- I most certainly am splendid. Thank you.
- Do you know what you would like to order? He says a bit impatiently
- Yes, one of your best Ice Coffees. In addition, your number.
After giggling, he says - I'm not too fond of dealing out my number. How about after this shift, we go play Tennis. Are you cool with that?
I nod. The next hour approaches and he's finally off. He drives us to this very beautiful park with a big lake, with some commodious walking trails, and swing sets. The park is overall and beyond mesmerizing. He tells me a little about himself, and I tell him about myself. I have a good feeling this time.
We hang out the day after. The day after that day. The day after that day. And such. Choices. That's crass of me to get this attachment. Did I not learn from last time. That's preposterous. I ought to jump of a bridge. I'm a imbecile. I don't want to talk about last time.
Okay so this time, I think the problem was that I'm tenacious. As for a person that means determined, and as for a noun that means clingy. In this case, I'm a noun. I'm just an object to Zander. I learned quickly that he only wanted sex, and I was oblivious upon everything. Now I should know.
After crying for an hour or two, I made up my mind. I will stalk him. Instagram here I come. Habits.
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Writing for fun
RandomJust writing short stories here. Each one could be a stand alone. ALL OF THESE STORIES ARE FAKE.
