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Fuck.
I can't write anymore. I can't capture you. I'll try again.
When you sat across from me and told me that you didn't get a straw with your drink because you tried to make every effort to not single-use plastic waste - you didn't say it like a smug douchebag.
You said it like me.
When you came to see me for the second time, I kept waiting and waiting for you to write me "well looks like something came up. maybe later.". I was ready and steeling myself for the blow.
Because it would be a blow.
I purposefully didn't look for you when you arrived. I only saw you when you popped up next to me. I was relieved you recognized me as I'd been afraid I'd be catfishing. The first thing I thought was "I know you."
It sounds dumb because I don't, and it would be hard to justify that we were reincarnated galactic soulmates (but wouldn't it be super fun). The feeling was one of safe, sure, recognition. I mean, he does resemble and talk like Dan - so maybe that's it.
I had not wanted to go. I had thought it was stupid and would be a waster of time - pretending that I was there mostly for Athens and you were a vaporous auxiliary - a conduit to a trip to the snobby globe. I told myself I was worthless and no one would like me.
This third time, it scared me when you made it so short (like a millionaire with their money, I assume they only want me for access to my body). All I'm doing now is trying not to drown.
There's no way I can know if you really like me. There's no way I can read the future, and I wouldn't want to. I enjoy this delicious torture.
The robot mentioned that I obviously seemed scared that I wouldn't be able to break my own made patterns. I'm a world leader pretend.
"you're terrified at what this would mean if it's real."
Maybe it's not though. Maybe it's already over. Maybe I'll never see or hear from you again.
Those cookies that I made you still puzzle me. That was a pattern breaker. Never in my entire life have I EVER tried to cook something for someone as a beginning date. Never have I wanted to make my very favorite cookie for them (oatmeal chocolate chip with pecans).
This time, I sent you home with practically nothing. Onions and rice. I hadn't really thought you'd come, and I wasn't really looking to repeat a trick or set myself up for a baking expectation.
When you pulled out of my driveway, I didn't watch you or blow you kisses like I do with people I want to know that I love them. I tried to give you privacy in case you wanted to linger. When I looked out my window, you were gone. It felt like the light had too.
This morning, I ate fried rice in goat milk butter with the happiest eggs and taiga rice of the batch I gave you. It tasted good, and I told you about it.
I wasn't shocked when you didn't write back, yet I wonder what you're doing. I'm either going to want in or I'll be out. I'm not going to spent my life camping outside of someone's wall.
again.
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