Falling in love at a coffeeshop. (A late-night stream of consciousness…ish.)

Falling in love will happen at a coffeeshop.  He will be stealing my donut.  I will be drinking his coffee.  He will remind me that I have class/work/something in twenty minutes “and thus I have ten more minutes to spend bugging you,” I will say.  We will sit across the table from each other, because body heat is great and all but I’m a creature of the cold and besides, he’s not too touchy.

We would have been friends for a while.

I’ll get up to leave and he’ll smile and wave and say he’s going to hang out with the boys and I’ll say “That’s fine; just see me sometime before next week.” and he’ll say “Okay, love you.”

It won’t even sound out of the ordinary because by then I’ll already know, and it’d be a fact I’ve already filed away for quite some time.

We’ll have the kind of love that’s more banter and shoving each other than cuddles and sweet nothings and living in a world of our own because the real world is just so big and awful and wonderful and besides our friends would miss us and hey, it’s more fun saying “you’re gorgeous” in a way that sounds like “you’re butt ugly” (and could still mean that) than saying it up front and with the violins playing in the background.  He’d understand that a sharp wit means more to me than bouquets and chocolates and a quote-unquote intense romance (because come on, I have had enough intensity in my life).  And he won’t mind that I’m just a high-strung girl pretending to be laid-back, and that no matter how staged things look or are with me they’re genuine, just artfully planned like the aesthete I try to be.

And I can’t tell you what he’s like because I can’t really imagine him, except I’m sure he plays guitar or some other instrument (guitar or piano are the most obvious choices though) and sings well enough to blend low with low in alto meets bass-baritone (or just baritone) or low with semi-high in alto means something like Adam Levine’s falsetto (high but still oozing with testosterone, come on).  We’d be Tom and Autumn, because Tom and Summer were too sickeningly sweet.

We’d be us and that would be ordinary and amazing at the same time.

(And yeah, I’m sappy in the evening.  Sorry guys.)


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