I'm just this guy, you know?
To expand on that, I am also the following...
- A former ficly member who is 38 years old and is schizoaffective (depressive type)
- Into creating languages and fantasy worlds from scratch
- A listener of audiobooks & good tunes
- Always too hard on myself
I felt like my heart was on fire whenever I saw her. Like a tentacle of hot flame wrapped around the ventricles and tried to choke the life out of me but not in a bad way, if you can imagine such a thing being a pleasant experience.
It was just love. OK, maybe not love, but definitely not lust. What's in the middle? Maybe there hasn't been a word created for it yet. Maybe some day some great philosopher far smarter than I will coin a term for what this exact feeling is and then everyone will be able to say "Oh, that. Well, of course I know that feeling" as if they actually did know, but really didn't.
I felt drunk and floaty, like at any moment I would both say something completely stupid to her about corduroy and float into the stratosphere like a child's balloon in perfect synchronization.
"Best not chance it," I comforted myself, as if there was actually a universe where I could've mustered up the courage to approach her.
Alas, I stood there the fool, gazing upon perfection as she ordered her coffee.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
No sequels yet. Why not write one?
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- #1897 Posted 4 years ago
- Published 4 years ago.
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