When I first saw you, I thought, "There are many things about being single that I love. I love the independence. I love the fact that I don't have to report to anyone all the time about where I am or where I'm going. I love that I don't have to have my life all figured out, because I'm not dragging anyone else in it with me." I also thought, "I would be capable of giving all of that up, in exchange for you palms holding my blushed cheeks, and your lips against mine, for a single minute."

art, cinema, and film noir image

What I felt for you was so shallow, and yet so, so deep. I wanted to spend every second with you. Getting to know more about you and your family. Wondering if your parents, whose names I never discovered, would like me.

When you spoke to me, my cool-girl scheme went down the drain in a tragic romantic comedy movie style: I stuttered, forgot the words I wanted to say, laughed at things that weren't funny. Don't worry, I wouldn't have liked me either.

However, things changed. You'd never given me attention; not more than an uninterested polite man would. Until today.

Today, you noticed my poetry book. I told you to read my favorite poem. You were amused by my taste in poetry: I liked dark and gloomy, you liked romantic and joyful. I laughed, and made it my mission to convince you that Bukowski was a genius.

Indeed, I succeeded. Although I suspected I would, I expected you to politely hand me back the book, admitting defeat with a charming smile. But you didn't: Instead, you proceeded to look through the rest of the book, reading each poem that I had underlined out loud, entertaining me with every comma, period, and the occasional rhyme.

It was an action that meant very little to the untrained eye, but for me, it felt like that moment in a movie in which everything started moving in slow-motion, and the main character discovered a plot-twisting information.

Image by Yoni 🖤

As I watched your green eyes like they were about to tell me how I'd die; the doubt of if I should watch them or not flooded my thoughts. Did I want the truth to be revealed? I listened to your voice, the sounds creating letters that created words, that echoed the poetry I had so eagerly read three times before, but had never loved as much as I did when it came from you.

love, couple, and book image

In five days, you'd move away from me. And in a couple of months, you'd move even further.

Thankfully, my heart wasn't fully compromised in this operation. And I decided it was indeed best if you leave my sight.

Before, I was afraid that you'd agree with my desire, and we'd both be left stranded in the pains of a dream of a distant future. Then, I feared I might tell you my heart, and your reply to have been, "Darling, hearts have no lips and therefore cannot speak. I know this because mine remains silent."

Now, there is no more fear left in me. Only the memory of a silly feeling in the back of my gut, that once left me silent, and now means nothing at all.

I guess what I'm trying to say is: If I could give my younger self a piece of advice, it would be this: "Dear Poppy, if you ever encounter a man with whom you feel an instant attraction, but you feel as if you must convince him to love you, don't walk away

...run."

Never yours,
Poppy.

-

My dearest readers,
Although this entry was 100% real, I also write fiction! if you would like to read more, check out my Wattpad at @poppykrs. My current babies are "Just Between Us" if you want more of a novel style romantic-comedy, or "My Past Lives" for romantic modern tales with a style similar to what you just read. If you give it a read, comment in one of the chapters of whichever book that you came through We Heart It and I'll follow you back.

Sorry about the tragic ending. I hope your story has a happy one.

Poppy.