It's just a love story, and the love interest is of course a(n ex) teacher.
(I'm not a native english speaker, so excuse me if it's full of typos or doesn't make sense)
I have to wear something nice tonight. Something that deserves a second, longer look. I'm in front of the mirror, and i just don't understand. I've lost a lot of weight since last year, and i wasn't fat back than, rather average. Now i obviously am thin. I weigh myself every day, and since the break-up the number only dropped. But here i am in front of the mirror and i only see fat hanging everywhere. I rationally know that it is not real, that it is only the image i have in my mind. But I just can't shrug it of. "How could i ever look good in anything with a body like that." But still i have to and i need to do it. To dress up, and go out, and feel good. I can't let this stop me, i can't let an image stop me. I calmed down, and picked out my favourite black dress. This dress is the opposite of sexy.
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It ends under the knees, long sleeved, no cleavage. It is a mysterious dress, and i love to pair it with my black Martens boots, and fishnets. Even on days like this when i feel like shit in my own body, i still know that i look good in this outfit. I did my makeup, red eyes, black eyeliner. Why do i even want to look good tonight?
On my way to the theatre I listened to some Animal Collective, and read a pdf about the impact of Roman Law on todays modern law. I arrived 10 minutes early, but he was already there. "Good evening Professor." He was doing something on his phone so he didn't see me arrive. "Good evening, excuse me i have to send this e-mail than i can properly great you. Just a second." That "second" was really awkward. I was standing there, in silence, watching him type, with the light of the screen making his skin shine. He is and looks much younger than any man i ever dated. The youngest being 10 years older than me. Not that i was or had any idea of dating him. That would be weird. "All done.-He said while putting his phone away and smiling at me.- Excuse me for the inconvenience. How are you?" "It is okay you don't have to apologise. I'm fine, thank you. I re-read the whole book yesterday, so I'm really looking forward to this." "Fitzgerald really has something special about the way he writes. The descriptions in his work really take you there" "Yes exactly. How about you?" He told me about his unqualified coworkers (he works full time as a judge), and how even on weekends, they still needed his guidance. He seamed more proud than annoyed by this. "I think we should go in, and find our places. Do you need anything before we do so?" "Nothing. Let's go." The National Theatre is an old, beautiful building, that was built in 1832. The aula was huge, decorated with big chandeliers, paintings and mirrors. I felt like a noble. We had seats in the fourth row, in the middle, basically a perfect spot. We talked about the plays we had seen here before, and then the lights went out, and the play started. I could feel his warmth, and his cigarette-soap scent. I think i'm dangerously attracted to him.
