i like to think i’m very good at the quick glance, not wavering my gaze upon a certain person, place, or thing for too long.
the girl who you really could never put your finger on because she was soon fluttering away to another subject, or person, or anything for that matter.
but i’m here to tell you that i’m not as incognito as i seem to be. i’m always searching. always looking and analyzing. picking apart. and scrapping together imaginary futures like i’m about to decoupage a little life for myself and a lovely lanky boy to live inside of.
i’m looking at scrawny boys in business suits on the train, wondering whether or not they would be open to such planned out futures together. or the backwards baseball capped bros that always come on the train at northeastern. and whether they could really find it in their hearts to love a girl who really just used the word “decoupage” in a sentence.
i’m looking at the brownstones that greet me every afternoon on commonwealth ave and wondering if i’m meant to wake up every morning in one with some hot-shot financial district boy who disapproves of my dogs sleeping on the bed (by the way, total deal breaker).
i’m looking at the katherine heigl movies that have so lead me to the flirting and dating illiteracy that i now deal with (james marsden types don’t steal your schedules until you agree to go out with them in real life? whaaaaat?!) . that i deal with on the roof tops of mit frat houses, surrounded by dreamy beta males who courteously bring me sunkist sodas (true story. it was totally awesome. i can now see why guys think it’s so great when a girl brings them a sandwich), but i talk myself out of talking to. that i deal with on the subways when i try to master the coy smile, but end up looking like i’m trying to bend spoons with my mind.
what i’m getting at, is that i look for that special person in everyone. no one curly-haired boy (with dark features. quiver!) is free from my quick glance. and a part of me feels like that this is my problem. i look everywhere, when every single romantic comedy tells me to do the opposite.
so that is why i’m going to start peeling myself away from the decoupage’d future i’ve built up so neatly in my head. peel my eyes away from well-dressed, bespectacled boys on the train and direct them to a book. start dancing down the streets filled with brownstone apartments with new friends instead of wondering what the inside of our apartment would look like. read more books alone in parks without peeking over to see if a boy might make his way towards me. write more funny jokes. work on that play/sitcom/novel. buy the dogs that will nestle at the foot of my bed, regardless of what the future holds.
because just like in the game hide-and-go-seek, no one likes a peeker.