Creative Writing, My Writing

‘Truth is stranger than fiction’

In the films everything seems staged and too perfect. Boy meets girl. They have a cute moment. They go on a few dates. Something bad goes down. They fight. They get told the error of their ways by their lifelong friends. They kiss and make up. End credits.

That shit doesn’t happen in the real life. Or so I thought.

But here I am looking at a Starbucks cup with a number and a random ‘cute’ message scrawled on it. I wasn’t paying attention when I hastily grabbed the cup after hearing my name called and flourished out so I could catch my train. So now I’m just sat here crammed between a guy with a briefcase that is far too big and a woman who smells overwhelming of lavender staring at this cup wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now.

If I were in one of those movies I so weirdly love I would call my sister or a best friend and be like ‘what should I do?’ and they would just ask whether they were hot then tell me to go for it when my probable silence told them everything. Because apparently a face that looks good is the only thing of importance. The problem with that is I don’t have a sister or a best friend who would encourage this. My best friend would ask a whole bunch of questions before he even entertained the idea that I should call this stranger and well there is no sister to speak of in my life. And even if I did call them I don’t have any answers to the questions I will be asked, so I’m stuck.

If this were a movie things would work out fine. They never seem to have to worry about stranger danger on a screen. This most definitely isn’t Hollywood though. This is my life.

And I don’t even know which of the three baristas the number belongs to. Not really anyway. And even if I did I wouldn’t remember their face. I was too wrapped up in checking my emails, putting my purse away, briefly rearranging my bag and checking the time to pay attention to the people making the elixir that would get me through the day. So I don’t even know what they look like.

What if I do ignore them and then it gets awkward when I go to get my coffee? I don’t have the time management skills to factor in a longer route to change coffee shops. It’s convenient. I like convenience.

But then again maybe I am over thinking it.

But also I don’t want to take the risk that this could end horribly. Not unless I have more knowledge of who the hell this person is. What they look like. What their actual name is. You know the basics.

I’ll just pretend I was too rushed to pay attention to the cup. Or that cardboard thing that stops your hand form getting scalded was covering it so I never saw it. There are ways to get past this. I can get past this.

Life isn’t like a movie. There is no cute meeting and bashful flirting and an accelerated falling in love process. No, life is much more stressful and stranger than that.

sign off 2


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