he wasn't supposed to make a huge deal out of nothing.
him: my god, this is the end - isn't it?
me: this is prom, cooper.
him: the end!
me: prom.
him: same difference!
me: don't ruin this night with college talk.
him: i was actually going to ask you for a dance.
me: but hey let's talk about it!
him: too late, princess.
me: holy shit, this is the song.
him: oh please, i know you're not that kind of girl.
me: what kind of girl?
him: yanno, the kind that go to dances, scream "this is my song!" at the top of their lungs, and jump around in crowd of other females, still screeching and annoying the hell out of anyone with in a seven foot radius.
me: you're such an ass.
him: you are that girl?
me: just dance with me.
him: don't mind if i do!
me: you are such an awful dancer.
him: you're doing the robot too!
me: that's the robot?
him: shut up and get jiggy with it!
me: ...
him: we can pretend i never said that, if you want.
so many words for only one night,
pages of a blank notebook now filled.
(mostly with the lyrics to hotel yorba).
YOU ARE READING
little talks
Randomi needed to write down almost everything he had said, to reassure myself that he had been real, that we were something that lasted; at least for a little while. - nina [ © jude rigor two-thousand-&-thirteen ]
