an archive of memories & fiction scribbled on #PostIts

from a while ago

Not a meet cute. A modern day dating app match. Two hours of texting and let’s meet. We hit a pub for lunch. A pizza, chicken with cheese, two pints. Smokes. My first cigarette, two, three, five. A single day, a single date and conversations of a lifetime. You click artist photos at music festivals. I write. You love that I write. We discuss ideas for collaboration. We should go up the hill at dusk, I’ll scribble on my post it while you click me in the golden light. You ask me if I’m free to go over at yours later. I’ve lied to my mother to come see you. I can’t stay back any longer. I’m not sure if it is ok to go over at yours actually, it’s only our first date. But you seem fun and I kinda want to. But I cannot, I should not. I am conflicted, I say no, act pricey and uptight when I want to be loose and shallow. I go home. You tell me I was an energy and you want to meet again. Collaborate. You’d play guitar and I’d write songs. Dave and Greta, could we? You ask me out for a punk rock gig. I don’t know what that is. I want to go. I’d have to lie to my mother again. I move to a new city next week and I don’t like you like that. But you tell me you’ll make a trip to the new city if I let you. I can’t let you. I don’t like you like that. You know? You know. There was once a boy who gave me a Begin Again card. You don’t know it is my favourite movie. We fizzle out. I find myself reading our messages three years later in a city further away from you, wishing it was a different story, perhaps a meet cute?

from a little later

Like I met you, did you ever meet someone and feel inspired? A self-proclaimed stand-up comic, you looked funny and you were a writer. I was a tag-along. It was nice to be out of focus for once. A background to your performance. I liked to let you take the centre stage and watch from the sides, silently admiring. I like entertainers, they know how to keep things moving. You were sloppy and unattractive but your humour cracked me up every time. Even with old Hindi songs in the background, I couldn’t, you know, get there so I faked the big O. I was in a new city, alone and curious. You said you’d like to show me around. I used the opportunity, used the guilt to do you a favor. I never thought I’d be that girl. You paid for expensive vegan dinners by the bay, shared my interest in films. It was fun sometimes, or maybe I pretended, so inconsequential I don’t even remember. You still get a space on my post-it because you inspired a thought. One night I kissed someone from work because these things happen when you’re floating above the commitment chaos. You’d agree if you saw the world from my lens. But you flew a few thousand miles away, a short vacation you called it. You kept in touch because you were a fool to think it was more. On the other side of the world, I had found the love of my life. But that’s another story, for another time.

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