Status: writer's block is an ass

Lovesick Fool

Prologue

It was seven years- seven good years since I fell in love with a guy that was nothing but a product of my imagination. I even made a pact with myself that there’s no other place where I can meet him except for a bookstore. If it isn’t weird enough for you, I don’t know what is. I was basically in love with a guy that I never knew- a guy that I never met. For these past seven years my obsession towards this perfect-little-dream guy of mine grew and the next thing I knew I couldn’t get him out of my head. It was practically the craziest thing that I’ve done, I’m not even sure if the guy existed- I’m not even sure if a perfect guy could still exist to begin with. As the 7th year of my fascination with Mr. Right approached, it was then and there that I realized that it was no good falling in love with someone you hardly knew- someone you never knew. The idea itself made me cringed; it was too good to be true. It was as if reality just slapped me really hard in the face. All through my entire existence, I waited for him- for someone as perfect as him to come along, but did he? No.

He kept me waiting and all I could do is cry about it. It’s pathetic, really, crying over someone- someone you never knew, blaming him when no one even told me to go head-over-heels with him in the first place. Bullshit, I thought. As realization hit me, I realized something, and it just points to one thing: Forget about him. Stop expecting, there’s no such thing as Mr. Perfect- he doesn’t exist. It’s true what they say; expectation is the root of all heartaches. Truth hurts, I know but I just couldn’t let myself get locked up in this unrealistic idea of love, again. I’m done with expecting, I’ll be over this- not today, not tomorrow but I know someday- maybe next month or next year, who knows? I just couldn’t throw all of these in one night, I need time. Time heals all wounds, everybody says. And I know it will.

//

It was a typical Saturday afternoon; I was walking through the crowded streets of Arizona- exploring the place that I was never familiar with, all alone. I was just about to enter a good ice cream parlor- thinking that it might be a good idea since I was all covered with sweat, when something at the corner of my eye caught my attention- a bookstore.

I abruptly jogged across the street, ignoring the fact that I’m in a need of something that can change my body temperature to a cold one. A smile was tugging at the corner of my dry lips as the scent of books embraced me with great pleasure. As soon as I set foot on the cold tiled store, I found myself rummaging through the classics section. It was a really odd thing for me to do since classic is not really my thing. I was on my third attempt of finding a classic book that I might like when I suddenly loose balance and tripped. Unfortunately, there was a small shelf of books at my back and a few amount of these fell onto the ground the moment I accidentally bumped my back on it.

I quickly gathered the books, anxious that someone might see the mess that I made. Being a good American citizen that I’ve always been, I arranged the books alphabetically since it was really my fault. I was about to return the last book into the shelf when the title caught me off guard, the title itself made an impression on me. I was having second thoughts on buying the book, worried that I might not like it since I was never a fan of classics to begin with. I instead read the summary at the back and before I knew it, I had this sudden desire to purchase the book. I searched my purse for my wallet but due to my bad luck, it wasn’t there.
Upset, I made a decision of just coming back to this place tomorrow to purchase this book. I hid the book at the back of the worst book section, writing my name at the plastic that still sealed it- just in case someone makes an effort on going through this part of the store (which rarely happens since it was the bible section); at least they’re aware that someone already owns this.

With that, I walked off to my house with a weary expression that I hardly wear.
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