He was so merely fascinated with the words that came out of my mouth. As he asked more and more questions he kept looking at me. He kept patiently looking for more secrets to reveal themselves. But those lines that stumbled out of my mouth had never been secrets, I never had anything to hide. I was never dreadfully mysterious or unexpected. I was an open book and nobody took the effort to read it. I haven’t met numerous people that found my honest answers so fascinating.
He kissed another blonde girl on the cheek, I got reminded by the fact that he wasn’t into me. I knew his kindness towards me shouldn’t be mistaken by affection, that was never his intention. Conjointly I never had intentions to meet his parents or to kiss his cheek. But he was into me at a level that he was more interested with the matrix in my head rather then the revealing ripped jeans.
I didn’t understand what made him different. Why did he care to look at me for more then numerable seconds. He had been educated for longer than necessarily. But he had a drive, an idea, he knew what determination was. He knew what it felt like to be all in in or all out.
He said he never met someone like me, I didn’t feel offended, I knew he wasn’t trying to be negative. And when he asked me about her I looked down and I couldn’t bare seeing her photo again. He noticed the way that my throat burned with her name. He noticed the way I couldn’t handle talking about the fact that she left. The not so ordinary boy said; ‘You really loved her, didn’t you?’
The overthinking 