A few days ago: I had to go on a small trip away from my love and I was finished with my work sooner than expected. She planned to keep herself busy while I was away, so I had the place all to myself for the rest of the day. Immediately after arriving I had the urge to leave and there went the thought of relaxing at home.

No sooner had I opened my door than my phone rang. “Call from [ABC123],” it read. Amazing timing.

I pick up the phone and received an irrefusable request. Well, alright. It was less “irrefusable” and more of me being unable to refuse any request from her. And so I went.

I drove off to where she was waiting and with one small, quick glance I transformed into pliable clay. It may sound absolutely horrible, coming from a kid who’s already taken, but if she made one tiny move on me I’d be all hers. Some boyfriend I am. Surprisingly, that wasn’t the case, but it was close.

Silence as we sipped our coffee.

She broke the silence. “S-so I hear you’re finally with someone,”

I try to fake surprise, “And where did you hear about that?”

“Where didn’t I hear about it. I guess it’s not so easy hiding the glowing face of a boy like you in love.”

“Hah. Does it show that much?”

“Yeah. It does.” And the silence slowly crept in again.

We sat there trying hard not to look at each other, but it’s hard attempting to do that in a small booth in a small cafe.

It was my turn to break the silence. “To be honest, I miss talking to you. I know I’ve spent a lot of time with her lately, but it doesn’t mean I never have time for you.”

Still avoiding eye contact, she speaks into her cup of coffee. “I know. I just had a lot going on lately.”

Desperately needing a change of scenery, I ask if she’d like to get some fresh air. We’ve been in the cafe for nearly 30 minutes with less than 30 words spoken per person. Once out of the cafe, we seemed to have transformed back into our past selves. We took a little stroll, catching up on every little detail we’ve missed. We stopped by a quiet area of a nearby park and sat down on the grass. She sat extremely close and eventually ended up laying her head on my lap. The sky grew dark with intense purple and amber. None surrounding us and the sunset.

I came home later that night to my girl, laying on the couch. She wondered where I ran off to after coming home since she noticed my bags, so, of course, I told her the truth. “I got a call from a friend I haven’t seen in a long time.” I approached the couch and forced my way in-between the lecherous couch and my gf’s backside.

“Are you okay? You’re being extra touchy tonight.” She says, pretending to whine.

“I know it’s only been around two days, but I forgot what it was like to just lay here with you.”

The moon shone brightly through our windows. No signs of dark violets and ambers remain in the sky.

Recently, I’ve been doing freelance work and because of that I usually interact with lots of different people, ranging from lunatic bosses to timid hermits. Fast forward to a few weeks ago: I get a different kind of client, with a particularly distinct glow about her.

Being the professional that I am, or rather the professional I pretend to be, I obviously keep clients out of my personal life even when I get offered certain…favors or services. In this case the rules were thrown off of a 50-story building into a pit of lava. This was tremendously difficult, but it seemed like it was bound to happen: We spent long nights working in a little loft with piles of arduous work, we had a surprising amount in common, in that we hated each other from the start and, to top it off, we avoided communication with one another.

She was so abrasive. Never have I heard so much sarcasm flowing through the air. Sarcasm from any other human usually feels like a soft graze by a falling leaf, but her sarcasm punctured and tore through all in its path with no prejudice. She was an absolute monster of words.

A few days passed and I began to question my compensation. But before it all sunk in, a partial check I was promised (from our agreement) came in and forcefully made me say, “Yes. Yes it is worth it.” So I decided to try and give it a few more days.

That afternoon I came into the office a little late as usual. To my surprise, the first thing I see in the office is a stunning woman. It was her. It was her, but her entire demeanor was changed: Her fashion changed from sharp edges and funeral colors into a monochromatic field of wind swept daisies; her movements more relaxed and smooth; and her glance lacked the arsenal of daggers. My jaw dropped.

“Try not to act so surprised. Sorry about the whole bit, but for longer projects I’ve managed to come up with a technique to know if my freelancers are worth paying for,” she says while staying focused on her work.

“So… I passed the test?”

“Yes. Somehow you did. You’re not the first, but I need to know one thing.”

“And that is?”

“You usually don’t like blondes, do you?”

She slowly stops working and slowly faces towards me.

“Uhh, I don’t know where you’re going with this, but no. I usually don’t like blondes. I’m guessing you’ve seen some of the fashion pictures I have scattered around this place.”

“A massive amount, even for someone single.”

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not just for my pleasure. If you haven’t noticed. we’ve used plenty of these pictures. I prepare myself for every client.”

“Getting back to the point: You don’t like blondes?”

Hesitantly I say, “Not particularly. It’s not really the hair color. There’s usually a general feeling to it that doesn’t fit well with who I am.”

“If so, then why are you so attracted to me?”

My face gives off a puzzled look. If I looked at my face in the mirror at this point, there would be shattered bits on the ground.

“What on earth are you talking about?” I say embarassingly.

“So you do,” she says as she smirks. “I know the day just started, but let’s call it a day. You’ve treated me the past days and now it’s my turn.”

–

So here I am, laying in bed beside a gorgeous girl who I’m starting to have intense feelings for. Our walls have shattered and we’re now together in the same space. It’s amazing how different she is from her alternate persona (yes, it’s still weird that she even has one). She really is something else.

But, of course, my happiness comes with a clause: someone will get jealous.

Guess what? We have some more self-loathing writing coming up. That’s right. Hang on, hold tight and get ready.

I had a dream last night that had a particular girl whose face I cannot recall for the life of me, but I wish I’d stop having dreams like this, or at least just stop remembering them. Typically, I dislike having dreams like this. It makes me see who I could possibly become if the right person came along who created the perfect amount of chemistry. In other words, it’s likely that it’s very unlikely for me to be head-over-heels with someone. The universe has to be aligned with every possible planet in a configuration that is yet to be determined.

As I said, this dream had someone particularly memorable, to say the least. The dream was rather dull. It only consisted of several scenes with us together: starting from the day we were inadvertently paired, to the night where her eyes and mine met for the last time. All I can honestly remember from that night’s dream was the glisten of her hair beneath the moon-lit sky, her somewhat raspy voice and those god damned eyes.

Those eyes staring into the depths of my intangible being felt so familiar as I tried remember every second of the dream. It finally dawned on me. It’s her again: Miss ABC123. There were more than a handful of times where she looked at me with those dreamy eyes. Their stares were nearly identical. Both gave me inexplicable chills that triggered nearly every possible sappy emotion: I felt the warmth of ABC’s love for me whether or not it was it was friendship or more; I felt my uncontrollable desire for us to be in each other’s lives for as long as the universe lets us; I felt every tear my body could muster in my tear ducts, overflowing; I felt her hand tightly grasping mine for dear life, for comfort and safety our paired state can only overcome. Those moments made the world, the solar system, the universe infinitely smaller than our own world. We were in the vast space of our twin presence.

Were we really into each other before my world imploded? I don’t know, and I most likely will never know. The infinitely large world now only contains the remains of my battered person. The vast space now only contains my solitude and she is the only one capable of opening the gates to release the restless solitude.

Long story short – My dreams are horrendous. Adorable, sweet and feminine they may seem, but they secretly tear me apart.

Next: I will attempt to continue the last story. DEF456 gave me interesting advice on that night.

Girly issue one: I can’t get over a girl. After so many attempts, so many serious talks with friends and so many days gone by it’s still glaring at me everytime I turn the corner.

(After creating some pseudo-readers’ faces in my head) No. It’s not even one of those situations where someone dumps someone else and you regret it later on. There was no “going out” or “going steady” or any other “going x” combination.

We were friends. We were really good friends. We pushed things aside for each other even when we had other plans. There was nothing else between us aside from harmless joke physical joke flirts. What do I mean by “physical joke flirts?” I don’t really know. It sounded good about 10 seconds ago, but I’m going to take a guess that it’s the typical touching that girls usually exhibit when they’re close. Considering that I am one big girly-man (but not gay!), I find it easier to be a mix of equal parts semi-feminine man and girly woman. Yes, that does seem like I should be gay, but sorry, I love women too much. Because I act that way, even moreso around this particular girl I can’t get over, it’s sometimes hard to distinguish whether or not she’s grown fond of me, so I made up a rule that states as follows: “You two don’t like each other.” That doesn’t really look like a rule. It’s more of a statement or a forceful command, but let’s pretend it is a rule. So that rule worked out fine for a while. Then, of course things happened. I wish I was making this up so I could prove my worthiness of being a writer for some silly teen show (I’m looking at you MTV’s The Hills).

Those oh-so surprisingly horrid things were horrid. Wait, I already used that word. They were horrible…not good, unpleasant, left an icky feeling in my tummy and they also made the relationship weirder. One night at her place we were having an extremely great time with other people. We called this event a “party.” It was a good time, but rather chilly as she had a ceiling fan on and she left the balcony windows open letting in not just the hushed sounds of the city, but also the hushed whispers of EXTREMELY COLD AIR GUSHING INTO THE APARTMENT LIKE INVISIBLE ICICLES THROUGH MY SOUL. It wasn’t too cold though. It was a good break from the typical feeling of being warm and toasty, sitting by an open fire while playing the guitar. So because it was cold, I was sitting with the girl on the couch as we watched everyone else play a board game. Their playing was filled with passion with full cooperation with the rules. They, of course, were playing 6-way (3v3) Battleship. Don’t ask me what the rules were. I love those guys (and girls), but they’re just too ridiculous for their own good sometimes. As they were all extremely absorbed with the utter madness of the game, I was partially laying on the upper part of the couch’s arm with the girl laying on my shoulders. As of this line, I will now refer to this girl as some different name. Referring to her as some vague pronoun isn’t working out so well and putting a fake girl name will make some people believe it really is that fake girl’s name. So her name is now ABC123. Can’t assume that’s a girl’s name, now can you? So ABC123 and I are laying as I described earlier and we have a smallish throw over our midsections. Laying together comfortably already seems like a questionable act, but she made it worse by first snuggling into me like a long-deserved nap on a cloud. Then she had the nerve of grabbing my hands in order to play with them. Her hands were amazingly soft, supple and warm to the touch. The warmth from her hands and body heat warmed me up far quicker than any blanket. That part was absolutely something I don’t regret enjoying. To be honest, I wanted to lay there with her for as long as humanly possible, but we both knew it was not meant to last.

As we lay there, likely contemplating about what we’re doing, her boyfriend calls from a different room and we both jump to attention. Our startled and guilty-looking faces puzzled the wonky Battleship players, but they quickly went back to their game except for my sweet confidante (who we will name DEF456). She walks towards our guilt-ridden auras and slightly pushed ABC123 to the direction of her boyfriend while telling her she thinks it’s urgent. ABC123 walks off into the other room while DEF456 looks at me with a giant smirk.

So that’s just one example. We’ve been friends long enough for this one example to be one of many.

I’m starting to get teary-eyed from all this remembering business. It’s not as if I spent so much time with her and had unforgettable, amazing memories with her. For now, I shall call this the conclusion. I’ll try and compose myself more before writing the next. Here’s to not having nightmares or overly fluffy dreams of her. I’ve had too many of those in recent memory.