Playing Hard To Get With The Night

Day 27.

This glass dorm room has served as a melting pot. The recipe works in reverse while the ingredients are extracted. Not much cooking tonight. We’re watching The Notebook and I get a strange feeling in my stomach – I’m starting to realize how much of hopeless romantic I am. I’m not even longing for a relationship – I’m single now for the first time in a while and I just feel like I need to exercise some chivalry in my life. I used to live vicariously through my writing and it looks like history repeats itself.

All my friends surround me; we’re in a limo and we’re on our way anywhere to play hard to get with the night. Summer air seeps in and brushes your hair away from your eyes and brings it up onto my shoulder like the tide. We watch the city flash by and laugh with our friends – your waves keep crashing. Bass from clubs are pulsing and controlling our heartbeats, we catch eachothers eye and smile as involuntarily as drawing a breath. Doors are opened for us, but our arms are locked and we stroll in smooth like poetry hovering with coolness over a steamy dance floor. This night feels like an accumilation of romantic karma. The tax return of rough break ups and deposited dates. It scares you how you have no say in your emotions, but you trust it realizing that it is in this absence of direction that you can flirt with a breeze and allow him to entertain your sails.

There is an epiphinanic satisfaction that overwhelms you once you trust in fate. It is when you begin to attempt to alter your destiny that you over-analyze whether or not you are living or loving incorrectly. When you know, you just know. You are released from doubts and uncertainty; while you still may be insecure, that is where faith picks up. Trust.