day 8

des·per·ate

ˈdesp(ə)rət/

adjective

1. having a hopeless sense that a situation is so bad as to be impossible to deal with.

-

i can’t stop thinking. thinking. worrying. things constantly on my mind.

it seems to be what i do best.

i just can’t seem to get connor off my mind. something about him is different than everyone else. something about his smile is more comforting than the grins from pretty girls in bars. something about his green eyes is more mesmerizing than any ice blue eyes from movie stars. something about his notebook told me there was so much more to discover about him. he was a whole book, a novel, with a million pages that hadn’t been opened.

maybe i am sort of like that.

but i knew one thing was for sure; i wanted to be the one to discover them. i only wish i wasn’t so shy. i wish i wasn’t so held back from the world. i wish i wasn’t so afraid.

but i can’t change anything. nothing has changed. nothing ever will.

i go to the kitchen. my kitchen in small but comfortable, with only a small table and two chairs. i don’t know why there’s two. maybe it’s the hope that someday someone will come and sit in it. maybe chat over breakfast. i’d make morning coffee and we’d watch the potted plants on the window sill.

i know that will never happen.

i make myself a cup of coffee. the mug warms my hands and i close my eyes, breathing in the warm scent. i still think about connor.

i could go back. back to the library, and wait there. maybe he would still be there, waiting by the bus stop. maybe he would be reading, or writing. who knows.

i sip my coffee until the cup is empty. the bottom of the mug is stained in brown. i put it in the sink and head to the door. i lace up my shoes and grab my jumper.

it’s only about 10 minutes before i reach the library. i glance at my phone. 9am. the same time as yesterday, i think.

i glance around, up the cement stairs and past the bus stop. i head up. the library is rich, filled with a million words and books filling every shelf, spilling like an overflowing sink. it has the sweet smell of yellowing paper and glossy finish. the floor creaks with my steps.

i glance down the aisles.

fiction.

fantasy.

romance.

i look the other direction, and i see someone. just a flash, before the front door closes behind them. but that’s all i need to see to know who it is.

i run after him, but just slow enough so i don’t look crazy.

back outside, i see him. he’s standing by the bus stop. same hair. same eyes. same green jacket. same coffee. same notebook.

the bus comes. he slips off into the crowd. the doors close. the bus leaves.

i’m alone again. although, i should’ve expected nothing less.

i’m just desperate.