1. Look, I like making cherry product, but let’s keep it real, alright? We make poison for people who don’t care. We probably have the most unpicky customers in the world.
2. Yeah. Totally Kafkaesque.
3. You don’t need a criminal lawyer. You need a criminal lawyer
4. Oh well, heil Hitler, bitch. And let me tell you something else. We flipped a coin, okay? You and me. You and me! Coin flip is sacred! Your job is waiting for you in that basement, as per the coin!
View original post 737 more words
He’s beautiful. She doesn’t even know if he knows it. His eyes are so pretty, pretty, pretty, like dew drops. His smile breaks off in his face like the first light of the sun in the summer, and her heart blooms and blossoms and succumbs like the fluttery flowers in spring.
She is so dreadfully, horribly, hauntingly, helplessly in love with him. And he doesn’t even know it.
When their eyes meet from across the room, it’s like an electric shock to her veins, her thick blood melting; it suffocates the words in her throat, bubbling, struggling, to come out. And her brain just stops working. She loses any idea of who she is and where she is and what she’s saying when he’s looking at her, and she’s frozen in the headlights that are his eyes. She’s rendered mute, immobile.
She’s tripping over her words like they’re elusive butterflies and she’s choking on nonsensities, and she can’t speak, can’t breathe, she’s so terrified. Terrified that he’ll see it. That just one look at her and she’ll melt, a buttery pastry mess all over the floor and right at his feet.
But he never sees. He’ll never know.
She doesn’t even want him to smile at her. If he smiles that smile at her, her eyes will widen like great big discs of I-Like-You and her tongue will be a useless flap stuck in her mouth.
She curses her naivete. He’ll never love her. Too many other people love him, people smarter, and funner, and funnier, and more good looking, and more outspoken than herself. She can’t cap her feelings in a jar and translate them into words, they’ll turn into birds and flap away and desert her mouth, an empty cage.
Maybe she has a thing for leader-type guys. He can handle a crowd, and when he speaks, people listen. But he’s a goofball, and he’s funny, and she’s discovered his wry, dry humor and sharp wit.
Electric. Her attraction to him is electric and one day it’ll set her on fire and burn her up, burn her out, until there’s nothing left but smoke and flame and tears and regret.
But that same electricity kindles her heart, that burning hope that pulsates inside her, that lovesick warmth that radiates within her, that comes from exchanging just a few words with and him giving her that smile of friendliness and respect, leaving her all gooey and syrupy and melting inside.
He just has to look at her, and her heart stops, skips a beat. Her love for him is squeezing her heart painfully in its iron tight grip and it’ll never let her go. But she needs to let him go.
Because he’ll never feel one ounce, one droplet, one cinder, of the all-encompassing, tumultuous, terrible, overpowering, interminable love she holds for him.