comfortablecouch

comfortable couch

you can’t look her in the eye.

You’re talking about relationships and boyfriends, about life the universe and fucking everything. Ok, so not literally fucking, but the gist is in those words. You hate it how all conversations get stuck in this loop after a while, yet still you plough in. You can’t look her in the eye because she might just be able to pick out what you’re thinking.

She’ll be able to tell you’ve liked her from the very first day, before any of the other guys even thought of her. Now you’ve blown your slim chance, obviously. She’s listing the qualities that she wants, at least implicitly. By saying exactly what she doesn’t want. It’s depressing because you’re a candidate for every goddamn one of those negated items.

You’re not sure what to say. You poke yourself mentally, and you take a deep breath. You list all your reasons as to what you’d do and why, but you don’t confront her. Or her question. And you sure as hell don’t say what you mean; you’re an expert at that. She looks hard at you, thoughtful, and you can’t help but return the gaze. Then your watch beeps the hour; that time already?! You smile lopsidedly, give her a quick hug and tell her not to worry. You jump down from the children’s playground bar and you walk quickly to the bus stop.

When you get home, you collapse onto the couch. And once more, without anybody knowing, you feel the bottom of your heart drop through your stomach. You shed a silent tear as you remember what she’d said, what made you freeze. You close your eyes and you wonder if it’ll ever be alright. You wonder why you’re such a drama queen some days.

You wake up the next morning, still on the couch. It’s dawn, a beautiful orange light is suffusing the room. You get up and groan.

You’re going to have to sell that couch; it’s just too damn confortable.