Write (Ooops, I mean) Right, your letter awaits.
Dear Beckett,
The Club Davis. Did you that what people call the bibleoteca? Am I the only one out of the loop? Anyway, I walked into the library to meet the Guy with the Shoes, and for a moment, I didn't see him. But I got a wave.
(Might I just add? A wave across the entire library is way braver thing to do than what I would have done which is awkwardly stand around until he found me.)
Anywho, he was in The Stacks coffee shop, getting his caffine fix before he started his portfolio. We went up to the second floor study rooms. I followed him up the stairs, staring first at his shoes, listening to the drumbeat of his footsteps in time with mine.
Conversation. I waited way too long to write you this letter. I can't remember a word, not a single word of what we talked about in the stairwell, but there were words and his eyes and not just awkward moving silence. This, I promise you. I'm sorry for the lack of details.
I remember staring at his shoes, but I don't remember what they looked like. I remember taking note of his shirt, and thinking it was interesting. I remember trying to find a word for it, but I can't for the life of remember what it looked like now. (Apparently odd enough to warrant word searching. Or not odd at all...)
I do remember our attempt to find a study room. It was either the second to last or the third to last room. Our search went something like: Boy with textbook. Friends talking more than studying. Girl with headphones. Girl... Watching polar bears on YouTube?! (Just kidding. ;) ) Guy with a coffee stained color sweater. Etc.
And finally, Empty. He sat facing away from the door. I sat across from him.
(A note: I could practically feel you guys reading this moment through the clear glass wall.
And then I forgot about all of you all together.)
(A note about my note: I don't mean I forgot about you in a bad way. I was just... focusing on other things.)
Like his eyes. (Which is a good sign. I remember his eyes and not his shoes. It's about time I keep the hair out of my face.) Did you know? Well you would know Beckett, that is hair is blond? (Random writer-ish thought: Did you know the difference between blonde and blond is that blonde with the e is only used when describing a girl and blond is used in both cases?) Anywho, the point is that guys with blond hair really aren't my type. Until now.
I remember clearly thinking, He did his hair. Isn't that ridiculous? (Do you ever think about how ridiculous you are and just start laughing? I do that all the time.) Honestly, who thinks these thoughts? See the reason I noticed it is because I almost never do my hair.
I'm in crush with a guy who does his hair more than me... And owns way more shoes than I do... Oh! And he had a different bag that day. I remember because you know before? When he said we had similar bags and I was all eh, our bags aren't that similar, guy with the shoes...? Well this bag was much more similar to my bag, it was the same color green, it had buckles, and yet, it was somehow much more manly... (You're laughing, aren't you? Don't laugh! *covers face with hands* It's true!)
I've gotten so off topic. But I really can't relay the conversation word for word like I usually can...
Things The Boy with the Shoes and I discussed and the estimated percentage of time we talked about them:
1) The format of our portfolio (ie the reason we were there) 7%
2) Shoes' poems (He handed me his little red book again) 21%
3) My new club and his new club 12%
4) Confidential Music-y Secret Stuff 9%
5) Why he wasn't taking Creative Writing 4%
6) Summer 5%
7) My writing (He offered to read more of my writing. For enjoyment. *swoon*) 15%
8) Why he thinks I should speak up in creative writing/His new song/His roommate's Twitter account 6%
9) It was nice to meet you's/See you around's/Me standing awkwardly in the door with a smile 9%
10) Other miscellaneous things I don't recall 12%
So yes, we really focused on our portfolios. We were so getting things done. Well, there you have it. How The Guy with the Shoes and The Girl with the Blog sorta-kinda-barely focused on creative writing.
Love you lots,
Sarah
P. S. Did I mention that he sent me this new song on Facebook? I told him that I liked his other stuff better. (Which means I admitted to creepy and finding said other stuff) He haha-ed (in a hopefully genuine way, it's impossible to tell if text is genuine) and said that he actually agreed with me. He likes his other stuff better too.
P. P. S. He asked me about the plot for my NaNoWriMo... I hope my response (it was long) didn't scare him away...
No comments:
Post a Comment