Status: uhh already written, so comments = chapter. in other words... active. c:
Too Tired to Fall Asleep
December 29th, 2009
Dear Emmy,
2 months worth of mail is stacked up on the table. 2 months of my life has been thrown away. 2 months worth of time I could have used to get you back has just slowly seeped down the drain.
You’re gone. It’s not like I can do anything – I don’t even know why I care so much. I only knew you for one stupid month. All we did was kiss. If you’d stayed, I would have made it up to you one way or another.
If I actually had the guts to go up to you and ask, you might say something along the lines of, “It’s not you – it’s me,” like in all of those chick flicks where the girl dumps him and then gets married to some jerk she meets while they were going out. Let’s pretend – My name is Yohan, you’re Alexabel. I’m a hunky, Swedish personal trainer, and you’re the beautiful girl who always walks by the gym. So, I fall in love with you, and you fall in love with my awesome sex moves. Huh. 2 months later, I’m helping some guy lift weights and he tells me he’s getting married. To you. And that’s when my steroids wear off and I become some flabby, 40-year old who lives in his mom’s basement.
As if. Maybe then I could get a girl through my tanned abs and flowing locks of blond hair.
I wonder what you’re thinking. I wonder if you miss me too, although that’s a long shot. I’m probably just a memory, but as long as I’m still there somehow, I’m fine with that.
Kind of.
I don't even know what to say here.
From? No.
Sincerely? Ew...
You know what? I am just going to say "love" and you're going to have to deal with it. Okay?
Love,
Lance.
Dear Emmy,
2 months worth of mail is stacked up on the table. 2 months of my life has been thrown away. 2 months worth of time I could have used to get you back has just slowly seeped down the drain.
You’re gone. It’s not like I can do anything – I don’t even know why I care so much. I only knew you for one stupid month. All we did was kiss. If you’d stayed, I would have made it up to you one way or another.
If I actually had the guts to go up to you and ask, you might say something along the lines of, “It’s not you – it’s me,” like in all of those chick flicks where the girl dumps him and then gets married to some jerk she meets while they were going out. Let’s pretend – My name is Yohan, you’re Alexabel. I’m a hunky, Swedish personal trainer, and you’re the beautiful girl who always walks by the gym. So, I fall in love with you, and you fall in love with my awesome sex moves. Huh. 2 months later, I’m helping some guy lift weights and he tells me he’s getting married. To you. And that’s when my steroids wear off and I become some flabby, 40-year old who lives in his mom’s basement.
As if. Maybe then I could get a girl through my tanned abs and flowing locks of blond hair.
I wonder what you’re thinking. I wonder if you miss me too, although that’s a long shot. I’m probably just a memory, but as long as I’m still there somehow, I’m fine with that.
Kind of.
I don't even know what to say here.
From? No.
Sincerely? Ew...
You know what? I am just going to say "love" and you're going to have to deal with it. Okay?
Love,
Lance.
-
Chapter 1
Lance's P.O.V