I like the thrill of the hunt of swiping and swiping, and always spending the night in a different girls bed. And I like that in the morning I can wake up put my pants back on and never come back.
Hook up's are easy, painless, transactional. That was until her. She was different. Unlike the other girls I had "relationships" with; she was harder to get. She didn't fall for the same traps the other girls did.
The priest was adorned in a white robe. Chairs are placed on both sides of the aisle. Flowers flutter in the wind as our families take their seats. A beautifully sculpted beard; with over-sized specs softly whispered
"Take care of her"
beads of sweat slowly trickle down his brow. His heart skips a beat or two as he presents his daughter to me
as I am standing the silence; I remember our first date. I was fashionably late; a bottle of 1972 tightly wrapped in my hand, as I rang the door bell of her apartment. She wore a pale-green dress, with a gold necklace that her grandmother gave her before she died. I leaned in for the kiss; and smelt her perfume, Chanel Number five.
She had a couple of glasses set out on the table; and Barry Manilow in the background on a dusty, old record player her ex gave her before he left.
We drank and talked, and I didn't leave until two in the morning. That is when the first ember slowly burned to life.
YOU ARE READING
Food
Short Storya father tires to understand life, now that his daughter is walking down the aisle
