Fuckshitcrapshitfuck.
And yes. There's a fuckshitcrapshitfuck situation.
I think I may like a guy.
Fuck.
And here I thought I was too cool to like a guy who wears brands and listents to electronic music.
It's the most intense... everything. Even the conversations' the best I've had in ages.
I hate being soft to someone. No one can know, especially him. I have to promise myself to be cool, calm and collected. Erase his number and pretend I haven't thought about him at all if he ever writes again.
I'm so not ready for this.
I don't think I'll ever be.
The memory and the lessons of ''shit happens, things end, it's painful, pointless and agonizing'' - Is still pretty damn branded in my short term memory.
Besides, we could never really like each other. He's a popular socialite and I'm a pessimistic social pariah.
It must be the sex-haze. It has to be.
Crapshitfuck.
You gotta give him a chance, Batty. You're entirely right, maybe it will crash and burn, but you'll never find out if he's sweet and kind and amazing and butterflies-in-the-stomach and beer-and-pizza-and-favorite-movies-in-bed-when-hung-over and hold-you-when-you're-sad-for-no-apparent-reason material if you don't. No one says you have to marry the guy tomorrow, after all. Just try to be open about what happens :) Ride the wave of excitement, we get so few of them.
SvarSlet