Aftermath

Aftermath

or

Consequence

In consequence

In consequence of...

In consequence of desire.

'I desire her.'
What makes you so sure?
'I want her.'
You've wanted others before
'I like her.'
What is like?
'I love her...? That's.. not right.'
Sustained
'I'll ask her out.'
How will you do it
'I'll ask her out for dinner.'
And then movies?
'And then movies.'
Cliche
'You're cliche'
How is this different?
'Dinner will be different'
Why
'There is chemistry'
That's just pheromones
'She does have a lot of hair'
So you like girls with long hair
'Among other things'
Among what else
'Round eyes, round face, round chest, round butt'
So, hentai girls
'No! You're a pervert'
I'm your imagination
.
.
.
She has round eyes, round face, and looks great in that green dress. She looks amazing. She dressed up for you! Say something! Great night out isn't it? You nitwit! Because what I meant wasn't so much that the night was great as the fact that it was great that she wanted to meet and how great it was that we were here together, under the massive scaffolds and enfolded by the underbelly of the overhead subway tracks, in front of 'Jin Ramen', but what came out, was that the night was great, which wasn't too far off, really, but went verbally from a to z.
.
.
.
Six sips of wine, before we started talking about ourselves - and then we exhaust the conversation platter of the past and about the future and find ourselves left with the now. Now, what do we do? Now, you make her laugh. I make an observation about the tears in the eyes of the chef as he torches the char siew, and that I'd probably be sad if I had to roast pigs for a living. She expertly dismisses it as a trick of the light. I make an observation about the busker outside making a killing due to the long queue into the restaurant, and how we were indirectly contributing to the arts by staying put. She flicks her supple wrist - it's so sexy in a dimly lit ramen joint - the skin is unblemished and pure and leaves everything to the imagination - she comments about the financial situation of ramen stores and street performers. Then the chef asks if we want dessert, I make a joke about the name on the menu - kawaii mochi - I can't wait to eat cuteness - the waiter laughs and says cuteness wants to be eaten - she looks at both of us like she was in the backseat of the car, and the parents were doing talk too mature for the baby to get. In a last ditch attempt, I invite her to come with me to an enclove I've found under the subway constructions and scream as the train passes. Nobody will hear, I say, It's very empowering - I say. Aw, maybe, she says, that sounds insane - she says.
.
.
.

How was dinner? Dinner was okay. Just okay. Anything magical? It felt like we were talking at each other. Two people screaming across a divide. Well, we weren't screaming. Why not, you should have been. We had a good time! Will there be a second date? Probably not. So not a good time. Not so much. You spent 2 hours together! It felt like we were staying out of politeness. You couldn't leave? Two hours is the norm for dinner dates. Dessert seemed right. What about your grandma in the hospital. My grandparents are dead. You know what I mean. It would be rude! It seemed like she was having a nice time. It wasn't magical. But I had a nice time. It was a nice night. I walked her to her station.

And then I got home and started swiping right

I desire her.
Here we go again

Published on
7/8/20 6:01 AM





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