Where ever you’ve gone?

A week passes until I actually hear from my Waiter Guy and by then I’ve regained my steadiness and I can see through the situation quite clearly, nevertheless I’m surprised and when I catch myself losing it a bit I surprise myself again. Can this be my undoing? I hope not and at the same time, I hope so.

He writes:

“Hello Strange Guy, I thought I’d check if you’re still alive. Are you?  Simon.”

And then I wait. I don’t reply back, but not because I’m playing a game of some sort but because I don’t know what to say. Am I alive? I certainly don’t feel like it. I feel like a well-oiled machine. Everything is going by the plan. When my mind is in other places, my body just goes through the motions, accomplishing everything that is expected of me, seemingly winning at life.

I respond:

“Still wishing I’d be choking. Making sure I don’t forget about you?”

I cannot, I will not get over this. It’s been a part of me for so long, I just don’t think I will ever get over it. It feels like an addiction that can only be cured by the death of the person that has it.

“Let’s meet in actual day light and get to know each other.”

“Sure.”

And we meet. We meet and he’s nothing like I remember him. Yes, he’s still as beautiful as ever, but there’s this geeky tenderness about him, if that makes sense, that throws me off balance. He takes me to this cafe I’ve never been before called Devoción, and this place has this beautiful skylight and just the right mood.

I learn that he is actually a Med student and that he was born in Queens which does not surprise me, just because he knows so much about the area that I live in. He tells me that Master’s Den is the only place that his busy schedule is allowing him to work at and that it works out really well for him. He is more into hip-hop than anything else and he sometimes writes – usually about stuff that happen around him or to him, but he just can’t write anything since he met me. He just can’t stop thinking about me. I tell him:

“Well then don’t.”

“I feel like you’re gonna turn out to be the stereotypical heartbreaker.”

“Well… I am a sucker for pain.”

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