I’ve been looking at her too long for her not to notice that I was dreamily staring at the way she mouthed the words that she was reading. She was either purposely choosing to not pay attention to me, or she was just that invested in the book that was inches away from her face.
This feeling was something new to me, the opposite sex always being what I’ve gone after. Seeing her though made me feel so much more than what I’ve ever felt when I’ve been with guys.
I haven’t even talked to her, but the way she makes my heart beat from a distance has me stressed out. Maybe I’m not even attracted to her, maybe I’m just having a heart attack. A healthy 19 year old can have a heart attack, right?
I shook my head at my stupidity, it wasn’t likely that I was having a heart attack. I’ve been coming to this little cafe for months, but up until a week ago, I never noticed the girl with jet black hair and deep blue eyes until she sat down a couple tables away from me. That was two days ago and she’s been sitting in the same place, day after day, as have I.
I didn’t even know if she liked girls, hell, I didn’t even know if I liked girls. It’s something I’ve been conflicted with for months upon months, never really feeling anything special with the opposite sex, and feeling out of place for not feeling the same as all my friends.
I was just sitting at the cafe, minding my own business, my notebook laying open with my pen holding open the page, but my eyes nowhere near the notebook in front of me.
Call me creepy, but I was just so fixated with the way she messed with her hair, how she slightly mouthed the words she was reading, how she would never take her eyes off the book, even to take a drink of her coffee.
It was nearing closing time for the cafe though, so I reluctantly gathering up all of my things, hoping that the girl would be here again tomorrow. I wish I could build up the confidence to actually talk to her, to hold a normal, civilized conversation with her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her gathering up her things as well, putting the book in her bag while throwing away her now empty coffee cup.
I started to walk out the door the same time as her, and as she passed me as I held open the door, she finally spoke up, a sly smile on her face.
“Are you actually gonna talk to me, or are you gonna stare at me like I have something on my face?”
— coffee shop (an excerpt from a book i’ll never write #5)
hi this is the first time i’ve ever posted like a lil blurb thing on here and also my first time writing gay stuff so i’m not too happy w it but whateva