Tag Archives: dating

Lost Ones

Posted on by under Short Stories

The bathroom light was still on. It hummed faintly behind the closed door, a thin strip of yellow spilling across the hallway carpet. Four plastic tests lay on the sink counter, lined up like tiny white verdicts. All of them said the same thing. Positive.

Lena stared at them until the word blurred. Her hands were trembling—not with fear, not exactly. It felt more like standing on the edge of something enormous and bright. Something terrifying and miraculous all at once. She pressed a palm to her stomach.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, and then she laughed—a small, disbelieving sound. “Oh my God.”

In the living room, Marcus was stretched across their secondhand couch, laptop balanced on his knees, a spreadsheet open. He was muttering under his breath about rent and hours and how his manager had cut his shifts again.

“Babe?” he called. “You okay in there?”

The bathroom door clicked open. Lena stepped out slowly, the tests clenched in her hand. Her face looked pale, but her eyes were shining in a way he hadn’t seen before.

Marcus sat up immediately. “Hey, what happened?”

She didn’t answer right away. She walked toward him like someone walking through water. Then she held out her hand.

“Well?” he asked, already bracing.

She held a pregnancy test out like evidence in a trial. “I’m pregnant.”

The word cracked through the room. He stared at the stick, then at her.

“Are you sure?”

Her laugh was sharp. “No, Marcus, I just collect positive pregnancy tests for fun.”

He winced. “That’s not what I—”

“I took four.”

Silence. For a split second, something like awe crossed his expression. Then it shifted. Tightened. His brain started calculating before he could stop it. Rent. Bills. His cut shifts. Her car that barely started in the mornings.

“Pregnant,” he repeated.

She nodded, a breathless smile breaking through. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Silence. Marcus swallowed. He set the laptop aside slowly, as if any sudden movement might shatter something fragile.

“Okay,” he said carefully. The smile on her face faltered.

“Okay?” she echoed.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean… okay. Wow. That’s… wow.”

She waited for him to stand. To pull her into a hug. To laugh. To say this is crazy and beautiful and we’ll figure it out. He didn’t. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet.

“How far along do you think you are?”

“I don’t know. Maybe five weeks? Six?” She hugged herself. “I missed my period and I just—I knew.”

He nodded slowly. Too slowly.

“Marcus,” she said, her voice thinning, “say something.”

“I’m trying.”

His mind was already racing ahead: rent due next week, the electric bill they were late on, the cracked windshield they still hadn’t fixed. His community college tuition. Her part-time job at the café that barely covered groceries.

“You look like someone just told you you’re going to prison.”

“Because this is serious, Lena!”

“It’s also exciting,” she shot back. “Or did that not cross your mind?”

He stood up abruptly. “Of course it crossed my mind! But do you want me to throw confetti? We can barely afford groceries!”

“We’ll make it work.”

“How?” His voice rose. “With what money? With what space? We’re in a one-bedroom apartment with mold in the bathroom!”

“So we move!”

“With what savings?!” he barked.

She flinched but didn’t back down. “People figure it out all the time.”

“Yeah, and they’re drowning half the time.”

“At least they try.”

He froze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re already looking for an exit.”

“No I am not.”

“You haven’t said one single positive thing since I walked out of that bathroom.”

“Because I’m not an idiot, Lena!” he snapped. “This isn’t some Instagram announcement. This is eighteen years. Minimum.”

Her face hardened. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re romanticizing this.”

“Oh my God.” She threw the test onto the coffee table. “You think I’m stupid.”

“I think you’re emotional.”

Her jaw dropped. “Wow.”

“Don’t twist my words.”

“You just said I’m emotional.”

“You are!” he shot back. “You’re running on adrenaline and hormones and—”

“Say it.” She stepped toward him. “Say what you’re actually thinking.”

He hesitated.

“That we’re not ready,” he said finally.

“And?”

“And that maybe we should think about whether this is the right time.”

Her voice dropped to ice. “Whether what is the right time?”

He looked away.

“Say it, Marcus.”

He swallowed. “Whether we should… go through with it.”

The air left her lungs like he’d punched her.

“Go through with it,” she repeated. “You mean have your child?”

“I mean make a decision that doesn’t wreck our lives.”

Her eyes blazed. “So that’s what this is? A wreck?”

“You don’t even need to think about it?” she asked, voice trembling with disbelief.

“I am thinking about it!” he barked. “That’s the problem!”

“You mean you’re thinking about how screwed you are.”

“I’m thinking about how screwed we are.”

“No,” she shot back. “You’re thinking about yourself.”

He spun toward her. “Oh, that’s rich.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is! Because you’re acting like this is some miracle dropped from the sky instead of a disaster.”

“A disaster?” Her voice broke. “That’s what you think our child is?”

“I think it’s terrible timing!”

“You don’t get perfect timing!” she screamed. “Life doesn’t send you a calendar invite!”

He dragged his hands down his face. “We are twenty-two. We are broke. We fight about gas money. And now you want to bring a baby into that?”

She stepped closer, trembling. “I don’t want to bring a baby into it. The baby is already here.”

“It’s barely the size of a seed!”

“It’s still ours!”

He shook his head, backing away like she was something dangerous. “We have options.”

There it was again. Options. Her expression hardened into something almost unrecognizable.

“You mean an abortion.”

He didn’t answer.

“That’s what you mean.”

“I mean we don’t have to ruin our lives because of one mistake!”

The second the word left his mouth, he knew. Mistake. Lena stared at him like he had just slapped her across the face.

“Say that again,” she whispered.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Say it again.”

He didn’t.

“You think this baby is a mistake?” she asked, voice shaking with fury. “You think I am stupid enough to call it that?”

“I meant the situation!”

“No. You meant the baby.”

He looked away.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “My mom was nineteen. Nineteen. Everyone told her I was a mistake too.”

“I’m not everyone!”

“You sound exactly like them!”

He snapped. “Your mom struggled her entire life, Lena! You told me she cried in the kitchen because she couldn’t afford groceries!”

“And she still chose me!”

“And she never finished school!” he shot back. “She never got out of that crappy apartment!”

“At least she didn’t kill her kid to make it easier!”

The word hung there. Kill.

Marcus recoiled. “That’s not what I’m saying, Lena! Quit putting words in my mouth!”

“That’s what it feels like.”

“You don’t get to twist it into murder because I’m scared!”

“You don’t get to dress it up as logic because you’re selfish!”

He stepped forward, eyes blazing. “Selfish? You think I’m selfish for not wanting to drag a kid through poverty?”

“I think you’re selfish because you’re scared you’ll end up stuck.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“No?” she fired back. “To have a dad who bailed? To grow up watching your mom do everything alone? No, I definitely don’t know anything about that.”

He pointed at her, shaking. “Do not compare this to him.”

“How is it different?”

“I am still here!”

“For now!”

That statement landed with the subtlety of an atomic bomb.

“For now?” he repeated. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“You know what it means,” she said, tears streaming but voice vicious. “The second this got real, you were looking for a way out.”

“I’m trying to prevent a disaster!”

“You’re trying to erase responsibility!”

“I didn’t ask for this!”

He realized too late that he should’ve kept that to himself. The words were already out there, doing more damage than he could have imagined. Her face went white-hot.

“You didn’t ask for this?” she repeated slowly. “The fuck you mean you didn’t ask for this?!”

“You think I did this alone?” she demanded. “You think I got pregnant by myself?”

“That’s not what I—”

“You were there, Marcus. Every single time.”

He slammed his hand against the wall. “I know that!”

“Then stop acting like I trapped you!”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You don’t have to!” she screamed. “It’s all over your face!”

He stared at her, something ugly rising in him. “If you keep this baby—”

She froze.

“If I keep it?”

He swallowed, but he didn’t back down.

“If you keep this baby without thinking this through… don’t expect me to just pretend that I wasn’t against it.”

The room went silent.

“Are you threatening me, Marcus?” she asked quietly.

“I’m telling you I don’t know if I can do this. If we should do this.”

“There it is,” she said, voice hollow. “You’re leaving.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You just did.”

He ran his hands through his locs, pacing like a trapped animal. “I am not my father.”

“Then prove it. Because from where I’m standing, you sure as hell look like him.”

“I’m trying!”

“No,” she said, tears cutting down her face. “You’re doing exactly what he did. Panicking. Looking for escape routes. Making it about how unfair it is to you.”

“Because it is unfair!” he exploded. “Everything was finally starting to feel stable!”

Her eyes went cold.

“So that’s it,” she said. “I’m chaos.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But it is.”

He felt something in his chest crack. “I am terrified I’m going to become him,” he admitted, voice raw. “That I’ll wake up one day and resent you. Or the kid. That I’ll look at our life and feel trapped.”

“And you think I’m not terrified?” she shot back. “You think I don’t know what it costs to do this, especially if I have to do it alone?”

The words echoed. Alone. They both heard it. He looked at her stomach. Then at her face.

“You’re really going to do this,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“Even if I’m not ready?”

“Yes.”

There was a long, awful pause.

“And if I can’t?” he asked.

Her voice broke, but she didn’t look away.

“Then you’ll just be another ain’t shit ass nigga who left.”

That did it. He grabbed his jacket off the chair.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I need air.”

“Of course you do.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what? Call it what it is?”

He stopped at the door, hand on the knob.

“I’m not him,” he said again, but it sounded weaker now.

She stood in the middle of the living room, one hand protectively over her stomach, the other shaking at her side.

“Then stop proving me right.”

He hesitated. For half a second, it looked like he might come back. Like he might choose to not follow his father’s footsteps and stay. Instead, he opened the door and stepped out into the night, letting it slam behind him.

The apartment felt enormous without him in it. Lena stood there, alone, breathing hard, the echo of the door still ringing in her ears. In the bathroom, the light still hummed. On the sink, three other tests lay in a neat row. Positive. Damning.And suddenly, so was the silence.

The Crush

Posted on by under Short Stories

He loved every minute of her company. If only she knew he existed. That was the tragic poetry of it, really.

Evan Carter had spent thirteen years in the same classroom orbit as Lily Ramirez. Thirteen years of shared pencils, shared group projects, shared fire drills and field trips and fluorescent-lit mornings. From the sticky tables of kindergarten to the scuffed tile floors of senior year, she had been there: three seats to the left, two rows up, sometimes behind him, sometimes ahead. Always close enough to see. Never close enough to touch.

In kindergarten, she wore her hair in crooked pigtails and cried on the first day of school. He had offered her his blue crayon. She had taken it without looking at him.

In fourth grade, she beat him at the spelling bee. He’d clapped the loudest.

In eighth grade, she tripped during the relay race, and he ran back to help her up. She thanked him politely—“Thanks… Evan, right?”—and the way she said his name had kept him awake for three nights.

By junior year, Lily Ramirez had become the kind of girl teachers described as “bright” and classmates described as “out of your league.” She laughed easily, spoke confidently, and somehow managed to make even a wrinkled school hoodie look like it belonged on a magazine cover.

Evan, on the other hand, had perfected the art of invisibility. He wasn’t unpopular. He wasn’t awkward in any spectacular way. He was simply… there. The dependable lab partner. The quiet guy who got good grades. The one who said “nice shot” at basketball games but never took the shot himself.

He told himself it didn’t matter. Loving her quietly was enough. Being near her was enough. Until it wasn’t.

The realization came in March of senior year. Graduation banners were beginning to be hung in the hallways. College acceptance letters were discussed like trading cards. People who had known each other since they still believed in cooties were suddenly making promises about staying in touch.

Evan watched Lily at her locker, laughing with her friends, sunlight slipping through the high windows and catching in her hair. In a few weeks, she’d be gone—to a university two states away. And he would still be the boy who never said anything.

The thought hit him like a slammed locker door. If he didn’t try now, he would carry this silence for the rest of his life.

That night, he lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. What’s the worst that could happen? She says no. But another voice whispered: What if she doesn’t even know who you are? The idea terrified him more than rejection.

The next morning, he made a decision. Not tomorrow. Not after prom. Not at graduation when emotions were high and everything felt cinematic. Today.

He spotted her during lunch, sitting beneath the old oak tree near the edge of the courtyard—the same tree where their class had taken a group photo in second grade. She was alone, flipping through a book, sunlight dancing across the pages.

His legs felt like borrowed equipment as he walked toward her.

“This is it,” he said to himself. “This is the moment.”

“Hey, Lily.”

She looked up. And smiled. Not the polite smile she gave strangers. Not the distracted smile she gave teachers. A real one. Warm. Almost… relieved?

“Evan,” she said easily, as if she’d been saying his name her whole life. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”

His brain stalled.

“…What?”

She closed her book. “I’ve been in the same class as you since kindergarten. You really think I don’t notice when you’re staring at me during assembly?”

His face burned. “I— I wasn’t—”

“You were,” she said, amused. “And you always let me borrow your notes in math. And you always volunteer to be my lab partner when no one else does.”

“That’s because—” He stopped. There was no point pretending now. “Because I like you.”

The words hung between them, fragile and electric. She studied him, and for a terrifying second he thought he’d misread everything.

Then she laughed softly. “Evan, I’ve liked you since eighth grade.”

He blinked. “You… what?”

She shrugged, suddenly shy. “You ran back to help me when I fell during the relay race. Everyone else kept running. You didn’t.”

“That was just—”

“Kind,” she finished. “It was kind.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It felt like standing at the edge of something new.

“I kept waiting,” she admitted. “I thought you’d say something eventually.”

“I thought you didn’t know I existed.”

She tilted her head. “You’ve always existed to me.”

The simplicity of it made his chest ache.

He swallowed. “So… would you maybe want to go out with me? Before graduation? There’s that little café downtown—you know, the one with the fairy lights?”

Her smile widened. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world didn’t burst into applause. The sky didn’t shift colors. The bell didn’t ring at some perfect cinematic second. But something changed. Years of quiet glances and almost-moments crystallized into something real. As they stood up together, walking back toward the building, their shoulders brushed. And this time, neither of them pretended it was an accident.

Sometimes love isn’t about grand gestures. Sometimes it’s about finally finding the courage to say what’s been true all along. And sometimes, the person you think hasn’t noticed you— has been waiting for you to speak all along.

The First Dance

Posted on by under Short Stories

He awkwardly placed his hands on her waist. This was the first of many dances to come. The gym glowed under strings of fairy lights, their faint hum drowned out by the bass thump of a slow song. Crepe paper streamers swayed lazily in the warm air, and the sweet scent of punch mingled with the sharp tang of hairspray. Ethan’s palms were clammy as he tried not to grip her too tightly.

Lily tilted her head up, her hazel eyes catching the light like shards of amber. A teasing smile tugged at her lips.

“You can relax, you know,” she murmured. “I’m not going to bite.” A nervous laugh tumbled out of him. “Sorry. First-dance nerves.”

“You’re doing fine.” Her voice was low and steady, as if she’d been here a hundred times before. But truthfully, she hadn’t. Lily had turned down every boy who asked her to the fall formal. Except Ethan.

“Do you think you’ll remember this?” she asked, her words a soft challenge.

He blinked. “This? Like, this dance?”

She nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if moments like these just… fade.”

“I won’t forget,” he said. The earnestness in his voice surprised even him.

A slow, private smile spread across her face. “We’ll see.” The song changed, but she didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

It began with calculus, but their first real date came two weeks later at a small coffee shop on Main Street. Ethan had rehearsed the invitation a dozen times. In the end, it escaped his lips in a clumsy rush between derivatives and integrals.

“Do you want to, um… get coffee? Sometime?” Lily raised an eyebrow, her grin playful. “Just coffee?”

“Well… coffee and, like… hanging out. Not tutoring. A… date.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

On Saturday, Ethan arrived ten minutes early and sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline. When Lily walked through the door—her hair tucked into a loose braid, her sweater soft and cream-colored—he nearly forgot to breathe.

“You didn’t have to get here so early,” she teased, sliding into the seat across from him.

“I wasn’t that early,” he lied.

“You’re terrible at lying,” she said, her grin widening.

Conversation stumbled at first, then flowed like a river. She spoke of her photography hobby, her little brother’s dinosaur obsession, and how her mother played Earth, Wind & Fire records on Sunday mornings.

“I like listening to you talk,” Ethan said, surprising himself.

“You’re full of surprises,” she replied softly, her cheeks tinged pink.

They left the coffee shop long after the sun had set, walking slowly through the crisp December air. At her driveway, Ethan hesitated.

“Thanks for today,” he said.

“Thanks for asking.”

She kissed him then—light as snowfall, her mittened hands brushing his jacket. When she pulled away, her smile lingered.

“See? That wasn’t so scary.”

Ethan didn’t remember the drive home, only the warmth that spread through his chest and refused to fade.

By February, Ethan was spending Saturday afternoons at Lily’s house. Her mother welcomed him warmly, offering cookies and asking about his classes. Her father, though polite, kept shooting Ethan subtle, measuring looks—like a man deciding whether to hand over something fragile and irreplaceable.

“Relax,” Lily whispered in the kitchen. “He likes you. He’s just… protective.”

“Of course he is,” Ethan said. “You’re… you.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “What does that mean?”

“You’re the kind of person people protect,” he said softly. For once, Lily—bright, confident Lily—blushed.

By spring, cracks appeared.

“You’re really bailing on me for another basketball practice?” Lily’s voice was sharper than he’d ever heard it.

“It’s not like I want to,” Ethan said. “Coach is on my case about missing even one. The tournament’s in two weeks.”

“Yeah, but we were supposed to study together tonight. You promised.”

“I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

The words hovered in the air like a storm cloud.

“I’m trying, Lily. I just—”

“I know,” she sighed. “It’s just… sometimes it feels like I’m not as important as everything else.”

“You are. You’re the most important,” he said quickly.

“Then show me.”

Two days later, he skipped practice, showed up at her door with takeout and a rented movie.

“You’re lucky I’m forgiving,” Lily said as they settled on the couch, her voice softening.

“Or maybe I’m learning,” Ethan replied.

In July, they lay on the hood of Ethan’s car, the metal warm beneath their backs, the night sky sprawling endlessly above them.

“Do you think we’ll still know each other in ten years?” Lily asked. He turned his head to study her profile, the curve of her nose lit faintly by starlight. “What kind of question is that? Of course we will.”

“People change.”

“Then we’ll change together.”

“You’re such an optimist,” she murmured.

“I’m a realist. And the reality is—I don’t ever want to stop knowing you.”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for his hand, their fingers weaving together. “Me neither.”

By senior year, they were inseparable. Lily’s acceptance letter to her dream university arrived in January. Ethan smiled for her, hugged her tight, but later that night he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She’d be three hours away.

“You’re quiet,” Lily said one afternoon, tracing lazy circles on his palm.

“Just thinking,” Ethan admitted.

“About?”

“Next year.”

She sighed. “It’ll be hard. But not impossible.”

“I don’t want to lose this.”

“You won’t. Not if we don’t let it happen.” He nodded, trying to believe her.

At prom, they danced again. This time, Ethan wasn’t nervous. His hands rested confidently on her waist, and her arms curled around his neck.

“Remember our first dance?” Lily whispered.

“How could I forget? I nearly tripped over my own feet.”

“You’ve improved.”

“I had a good teacher.”

She laughed, the sound low and warm, then rested her head against his shoulder. This would be their last high school dance. In a few months, they would walk across a stage in black gowns and caps. She would pack her life into boxes. He would stay behind for a year, working and taking classes at the community college before transferring.

The thought made his chest ache. But as the music swelled around them, neither of them spoke of the future. There would be time for that.

Tonight, there was only them, the slow rhythm of the song, and the warmth of each other’s hands. This was the first of many dances to come.

On graduation day, they found each other in the swirl of caps and gowns and proud families.

“Guess this is it,” Ethan said softly.

“Not ‘it,’” Lily corrected. “Just… a new beginning.”

“You’re better at this whole optimistic thing than I am.”

“See? I’m rubbing off on you.”

When it was time to say goodbye for the summer, Ethan hugged her tight.

“We’ll figure it out,” Lily whispered.

“I know,” he said. “We’ve got plenty more dances left.” And he believed it.

The Observer

Posted on by under General, Love & Relationships, Short Stories

She didn’t want to be in love. Her kind fell in love only once, and heartbreak could be fatal. Yet, despite the warnings ringing in her head, she couldn’t resist the magnetic pull the first time she laid eyes on him.

His name was David and he was unlike anyone she had ever met. His smile, his laughter, the way his eyes sparkled with life – it all drew her in like a moth to a flame. She watched him from afar, hiding in the shadows of the bustling city around them.

She had come to Earth on a mission to study human behavior, but she never expected to become entangled in the complexities of human emotions. She observed David’s life, his friends, and his routines, all while keeping her identity a secret.

One fateful day, as she was watching him play catch with his nephews in the park, David approached her. It was a quiet afternoon in the city, the kind of day where the sun painted golden patterns through the leaves and the air carried the faint scent of blooming flowers. She sat alone on a weathered wooden bench, her fingers idly tracing the ridges in the wood. She wasn’t supposed to be here – not like this, not among them. But curiosity had drawn her in, stronger than any warning from her superiors. She had been watching them, these humans, studying their laughter, their conversations, their casual touches. They were so open with their emotions, so unguarded. It fascinated her. She was so captivated by them that she didn’t notice him at first, not until he sat down beside her.

“Nice day huh?” He said, stretching his arms over the back of the bench. She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye. He had warm brown eyes, a casual smile, and a presence that radiated a kind of easy confidence.

“”I suppose,” she answered carefully.

“You don’t sound convinced.” He chuckled, tilting his head as if trying to read her expression. “First time here?” She hesitated. She had spent months blending in, learning the nuances of human speech and movement, but she never expected to noticed – let alone engaged in conversation.

“You could say that,” she meekly replied after a few moments. “Hi, I’m David.” He extended his hand towards her. A simple gesture, yet she briefly hesitated.Physical touch was a level of intimacy that her people reserved for their mates. But I came here to understand them, didn’t I? So she placed her hand in his. “Have I seen you around her before?” She softly shrugged her shoulders as she stared down at her feet. His warmth pleasantly surprised her. A rush of something unfamiliar unfurled in her chest. She quickly pulled her hand away, hoping not to insult his friendliness. David seemed to not notice.

“You got a name?” He asked, still smiling at her. For a split second, she considered lying. A false identity would be safer. But before she could give it further thought, she blurted out, “Zara.”

“Nice to meet you, Zara.” They exchanged smiles again and leaned back on the bench to watch as life in the park went on around them. Silence stretched out between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. David seemed to content to just sit there, watching the people pass by. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. Something about him unsettled her. Not in a way that made her feel threatened – but in a way that made her feel seen.

“So,” he said after a while, “what brings you to the park today?” She searched for an answer that wouldn’t reveal too much. His friendly nature and genuine curiosity about her drew her in. “I like watching people.” A small sense of pride poured over her. He laughed. “That’s not creepy at all.” She frowned. “It’s not meant to be.”

“I’m just messing with you,” he said, nudging her lightly with his elbow. The casual contact sent another ripple through her whole body. She had spent so much time observing humans from the shadows, but now, sitting next to one – talking to one – she realized something she hadn’t before. Being near him felt different. Being seen by him felt different. And for the first time since she arrived on Earth, she wasn’t just studying humans. She was experiencing them.

David stood up, stretched, and waved at his nephews. “Well Zara, I think I’ll be coming back to this park more often. Maybe I’ll see you again.” She watched him walk away, her pounding against her chest in a way that had nothing to do with fear. She hadn’t come here looking for a connection. She knew she couldn’t afford it. But something told her she would be coming back to the park too.

Days turned into weeks then months, her and David’s connection deepened. She learned about his dreams, his fears, and his past. She shared stories of her home planet, which fascinated David. Their conversations flowed effortlessly, transcending the boundaries of species. As their friendship grew stronger, so did her feelings for David. She knew the danger of falling in love, the risk it posed to her very existence. But she couldn’t help herself, love was an irresistible force that pulled her closer to David with each passing day.

One evening, under the vast expanse of a star filled sky, David confessed his love for her. She hesitated, torn between her feelings for him and the immense weight of the potential consequences. But she couldn’t deny her heart any longer, and professed her love for him too. Their love was unconventional, to say the least. Her alien physiology and vulnerability to heartbreak made their relationship fragile, yet filled with passion and depth that neither of them could have imagined. One night beneath the soft glow of the moon, her and David lay side by side, their fingers intertwined. The night air was warm, filled with the quiet hum of the city in the distance. But in this moment, they were in a world of their own. She traced gentle patterns along David’s arm, marveling at the warmth of his skin. She had studied humans for most of her adult life, observed their behaviors, their emotions. But feeling him beneath her fingertips was different. It was real, it was terrifying.

“Are you afraid?” David asked softly, his voice a whisper against the nightlife around them. She turned to face him, her luminous eyes reflecting the starlight. “Yes,” she admitted, “But not of you.”

His hand came up cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. “The what?” She exhaled, her breath shaky. “Of this. Of what I feel for you. My kind, we love only once. And if we lose that love…” She hesitated, afraid to say the words aloud. David’s expression softened with understanding. He pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Then I won’t let you lose me,” he murmured in between the soft kisses he planted on her cheeks. The space between them disappeared as he kissed her softly at first, as if testing the fragile boundary between them. But when she responded, pressing her body against his, the tenderness melted away, leaving something deeper, something more electric.

She gasped as sensations overwhelmed her. Her species was not accustomed to touch in the way humans were; their emotions were felt on a level so intense that even the slightest brush of skin to skin contact could send ripples of lust through them. And David was like fire against her skin. He moved with care, his hands exploring, learning her body with reverence. Every touch sent waves of passion through her, and she responded in kind, letting herself give in to the instinct, to the connection that had been building between them since the moment they met.

As they came together, she felt something unlike anything she had ever know. A merging of more than just bodies, but of souls, of something ancient and powerful that transcended species, planets, the differences between them, and even logic itself. David held her through it all, his touch grounding her as her body trembled with the force of her passion erupting. When it was over, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms, their breath mingling in the stillness around them. She pressed her forehead to his, her fingers tracing the lines of his face as if trying to memorize every detail. “Now I know,” she whispered.

“Know what?” David asked, his voice still laced with the remnants of their passion. She smiled, brushing a kiss against his lips. “That love isn’t meant to be feared.”

But as their love grew, so did the danger. Her commander discovered her emotional entanglement with a human, and warned of the danger it posed. Her heart, already filled to brim with love for David, now bore the weight of an impossible choice. She stood at the edge of the rooftop, gazing up at the night sky. The stars shimmered like distant memories, calling her home. Behind her, David stood in silence, waiting for her to speak. She had been quiet since receiving the transmission from High Command.

“They want me to return home,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. David swallowed hard. He had known this moment could come, but that didn’t make it any easier. “What happens if you don’t go?”

She turned to face him, her luminous eyes filled with something between fear and longing. “Defiance isn’t taken lightly among my kind. If I refuse, I may never be allowed to go back home. I would be exiled, forever.” David stepped closer, his hands gliding gently over her arms. “But if you go back, what happens to us?”

She closed her eyes. The thought of leaving him, of severing the bond they had built, was unbearable. If she left, if she couldn’t be with him, she would never love again. And without that love, her life would end shortly afterwards. She took his hand in hers and pressed it against her chest. “If I leave, I lose you. If I stay, I lose them,” her voice wavered, “Either way, I lose something.”

David cupped her face, his thumb tracing soft circles on her cheek. “Then stay,” he whispered, “Stay with me. We’ll make a life here, together.” She searched his eyes, feeling the depth of his love. A love that had defied every law of the universe. For the first time in her life, she made a choice not based on duty, not on fear, but on her heart.

“I’m staying,” she said, the words tasted like freedom to her. David pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if afraid she might disappear if he let go. She burrowed into his chest, as if she was reassuring him that she wouldn’t. She was his now, as much as he was hers. And as the stars watched from above, she turned her back on the life she once knew, choosing love over duty, the unknown over certainty, and a future that was truly hers to write. She knew the risks, but couldn’t imagine a life without David in it. Together, they faced the odds, navigating the uncharted waters of interspecies love. Their bond only strengthened as they defied the odds, proving that love could conquer even the greatest of challenges.

Love (As Seen Through the Eyes of a Hopelessly, Romantic, Cynical Realist)

Posted on by under Love & Relationships, Poetry

So I’ve been sitting at my laptop for a few hours, staring at a blank screen on WordPress while thinking about what I wanted to write about today. In that time, I realized that not only do I have a toothache, but I also really don’t have anything to rant about at this time (hopefully, that’ll change sometime soon). Since I couldn’t come up with a topic to write about, I decided to share another poem. Hope you enjoy…

They say love is a many splendor thing
I think pain and heartache are what love brings
Love is supposed to be the best emotion of all
I believe love is like taking a long fall
Why are so many people falling victim to this shit
Like love is the only reason that we exist
I tend to agree with the L.O.X. on this
Money, power and respect are at the top of my list
I’m thinking love falls in the middle, around 5 or 6
And if you see Cupid, tell him I said, “Flip bricks!”
I know you’re wondering what could’ve happened to me
The romantic trauma I suffered must’ve been devastating
It’s nothing like that; I’ve just come to my senses
And the mere mention of love sets off all my defenses
I’ve been in love a time or two
And I believe that love makes men into fools
We end up in stores holding purses and shit
And answering questions like, “Do I look good in this?”
Maybe it’s not love I have a problem with
Just the senseless rigmarole that comes with it
Who really has the patience to date nowadays
It seems like everyone’s just out to get laid
I’m looking for that deep down, butterfly giving, soul stirring love
The kind that makes you think that person was sent from the heavens above
I want a soul mate, not a fucking booty call
I want somebody who’s down to be there through it all
A partner in all that life brings, whether it’s good or bad
Someone who’s an instant pick-me-up whenever I’m sad
But since no one else in the world is looking for that
I guess me will love I because I’ll always love me back

dead-cupid

Catfish (I Hate the Fact I Feel Compelled to Write This…)

Posted on by under General, Humor, Love & Relationships, Rants & Random Ramblings

Good afternoon world! Hopefully this blog finds you in good health and even better spirits. I don’t really have a lot to say that doesn’t have to do with today’s topic, so let’s get right to it.

So, after being bombarded with all the coverage of “Manti Te’o fake dead girlfriend” story over the past few days and constantly hearing references to Catfish, I decided to watch the movie. I had never heard of this movie up until now. Let me just say that a part of me feels like that might have been the biggest mistake I’ve made in a while, like the last piece of my innocence was violently snatched away. My soul feels violated. If you’re unfamiliar with the movie (as I was), here’s the synopsis from IMDB:

“In late 2007, filmmakers Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost sensed a story unfolding as they began to film the life of Ariel’s brother, Nev. They had no idea that their project would lead to the most exhilarating and unsettling months of their lives. A reality thriller that is a shocking product of our times, Catfish is a riveting story of love, deception and grace within a labyrinth of online intrigue.”

I know that doesn’t really give away a lot, but keep reading.

Now, I know I would never find myself in a situation like the guy from Catfish or Manti. I’m too jaded cautious to allow myself to blindly get caught up like that. I’m good to Google the hell outta somebody long before I even contemplate catching feelings. But, as I’ve said on countless occasions, I’m a die-hard romantic. Even though I knew how the movie was gonna end, I was sitting here hoping and wishing that the girl was gonna be real and they would live happily ever after. That’s why I feel so violated. It takes a lot for a person to put themselves out and open up, to give a piece of your soul to someone and have faith that they won’t mistreat it. And I’m just talking about relationships in general, imagine how much more difficult it is to do it across distance and via electronic communication. That’s gotta be exponentially more difficult and nobody deserves to be victimized like that.

Some of you are probably thinking, “He’s relating his own story to what happened in the movie.” Please believe me, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Like I said, I’m jaded cautious when it comes to affairs of the heart and take time to thoroughly investigate anybody that I let in because I’ve had my heart broken before. But we’ve all had our gullible moments when it comes to our dealings with the opposite sex, especially us men. That’s how we become jaded cautious in regards to our romantic lives in the first place.

But on the other hand, some things are too good to be true and should be treated as such. How many times have you randomly met somebody on Facebook (or Myspace, Twitter, Blackplanet, Migente, etc.) and they were pretty much perfect? Not just perfect for you, but generally considered as perfect? Not only did he fall for the chick, but his brother and friend did too. Where does that happen at? Go ahead and take a second to think about it, I’ll wait…

I’ve only met 2 or 3 women in life that I would say are perfect for me (yes, one of them is the current object of my affection), and I’m pretty damn sure I’ve never met a perfect person. Maybe I’m just not going to the right places. But on the flip side, I wouldn’t want a “perfect” person. I’m far from perfect (don’t tell anybody I said that), so I know I wouldn’t be able to keep perfection satisfied. Or maybe I could, I am the shit…

I think that’s all I have for today, I’m not really up for going into some long diatribe about the perils of meeting someone on the internet. Especially considering that I’m just shy of falling head over heels for somebody that I met online. Don’t want to give that jaded cautious side of me too much to think about. So until next time, peace and love…

Ain’t It Funny? Don’t Ya Think?

Posted on by under Love & Relationships

Once again, good evening world! Hopefully, this blog finds you in good health and even better spirits. I know what you’re thinking, “Didn’t he just post a poem because he said he couldn’t think of anything to write about?” Well, you’re absolutely right! I literally just posted a poem and then I was struck by inspiration. At least I think it was inspiration, it might’ve been a stoke. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a stroke because I still have full control of all my bodily functions and don’t feel particularly strokish right now. But I digress…

Now I know you’re wondering, what kind of inspiration could hit me in just a few seconds. Well, that’s the funny part. I literally was hit with a spark all because of a Facebook notification (gotta love FB sometimes). Once again, I know what you’re thinking, “What kind of notification was that?” It wasn’t so much about the notification itself as it was the person that caused it to happen. Yes ladies and gentlemen, this is another diatribe about a woman that has caught my eye.

Before I begin, let me warn you. Unlike most of my entries, this is completely off-the-cuff. Not sure what that means? Well, basically that means I’m prone to repeating myself and some of thoughts might not be completely coherent. But it will all be grammatically correct, I’m not a monster. Furthermore, because I haven’t taken the time to mentally outline my thoughts, everything I say write will be completely unfiltered. So there’s a good chance I might say write something that is potentially embarrassing to me, my loved ones and quite possibly the subject of this post. Still wanna keep reading? Good, let’s get started…

Have you ever interacted with someone and they find a way to completely ensnare you with even the simplest of things? Neither had I until I had the good fortune of coming across this lady. Since we “met” last year, I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. Please believe me when I say that no woman has ever had me this enthralled without doing something completely spectacular to capture my attention. I find myself thinking about her on a pretty regular basis. There are songs that remind me of her and when i hear them, I listen to them over and over again. I ain’t trying to say I’m in love, but damn, this is more than the average “She’s pretty easy on the eyes” reaction that most women get from me nowadays.

Up until this point, I’ve been pretty vague about the circumstances of my connection to this woman. Let me stop that now. As of today, we have yet to physically meet. We’re FB friends, we’ve shared a few text message conversations, talked on the phone a few times but I have yet to lay my eyes on her. And that kills me. If this woman has managed to capture my heart pique my interest purely through electronic communication, what chance do I stand in person? We all know that I’m nothing more than a quivering mass of mushy, romantic ass, man jelly. What happens when my real-life version of the movie You’ve Got Mail comes to climatic scene where the two protagonists meet? What if she doesn’t meet my standards I don’t meet her standards? What if she’s not interested in me the same way? If that was to happen, I seriously think my heart would push its way out of my chest cavity and commit Harakiri on the spot. I know that sounds a bit dramatic, but what else would you expect from me? And if you don’t know what Harakiri is, well that’s what Wikipedia is for.

For those that know me (or have at least read a few of the entries in this blog), you know that I think of myself as the world’s largest walking contradiction. For just about every adjective you could use to describe me, you could also use the opposite and still be correct. This completely asinine and annoying character trait is most prevalent when examining my social/romantic life (or lack thereof at the present moment). When I’m around a group of people, I’m the life of the party. I’m outgoing, charming, witty, all that good shit. But let me get around a woman that I’m digging and I clam the fuck up. I start shaking like a leaf and shit, its just not a good look for me. I swear I hate that about myself.

Now, I know this is my first time mentioning, let alone devoting an entire post, to this woman. And there’s a very good reason for that. I’ve been trying my hardest failing miserably to put my thoughts and feelings about this woman into words. If there’s one thing I can do, its wax poetic about pretty much anything that comes to mind. Compound that with my mile-wide romantic streak, and you would think there would be volumes of sonnets written to and inspired by this woman. But there’s not. She literally has my silly ass tongue-tied. And that truly sucks because I have not been able to fully express how I feel. Hence the reason for this entry.

Now, that’s all I’m gonna share with you guys today. That’s not to say that my thoughts of this woman aren’t a little more in depth, but I have my reasons for not wanting to put them all out there right now. Mainly because I don’t want to scare her off if and/or when she decides to read this. So until next time, peace and love…

The (Perceived) Death of Chivalry…

Posted on by under Love & Relationships

Good evening world! I want to start out by apologizing for that entry yesterday. I wasn’t giving my writing my full attention, and that’s unfair to anybody that takes time out of their day to read the ramblings of this self-described lunatic. I can wholeheartedly assure you that you will never have to worry about me doing that again. But back to what brings us here today.

You’ve probably heard someone say “chivalry is dead” thousands of time. That young men (and even some older men) just don’t know how to treat a woman accordingly. And that individual you heard say it was probably a disappointed woman. Men aren’t stupid. Even fatherless, Lil’ Wayne look-alikes know what they are supposed to do. It doesn’t take a Harvard MBA to open and close car doors. What it does take, however, are seemingly desirable qualities. Chivalrous behavior is no longer the norm, because it is not required. Not all men have forgotten the rules to being a gentleman, but many just don’t care anymore. Gone are the days when women expected men to open, hold and close doors for them. Many would rather do it themselves to demonstrate their “independence.” Others (due to absent fathers and/or negative experiences) don’t know where to set their expectations; consequently, not setting any at all. Men adhere to what is demanded of them, which is the reason some women are professional jump-offs while others keep getting wifed.

Well, I’m here to tell you that chivalry is NOT dead! It is, however, on life support and its up to all of us to revive it. How do we do that, you ask? Simple fellas. We start treating our women they way they deserve to be treated. Wait a minute, let me be careful with that statement because there are some females in this world who’s actions are deserving of being treated like shit. That doesn’t mean we treat them that way, but we all know people are bound to read what they want. So let me say it like this: We need to start treating our women like the ladies they either are or that we wish they were. Guys, below are a few examples of how we can bring chivalrous behavior back from its perceived grave:

1. Give Up Your Seat on Any Form of Public Transportation
Straight up, it seems as if a woman has to be past five months pregnant or on crutches to get some men to let them sit down on a packed train or bus. I’ve seen too many men, white, black, green and blue, sit comfortably in their cozy plastic seat, looking straightforward trying to ignore the woman holding on to a germ infected pole or overhead rail for dear life so she won’t fall while waiting for her stop. I’ve seen signs of hope in older men who might ask if a woman wants to trade seats, but it’s a rarity they’ll insist on it if she gives a half-hearted, wanting but not wanting to inconvenience “that’s okay.” Act like you have some home training. Get up and insist that woman sits down. If you’re on the train or bus with a bunch of your friends, make them get their asses up too. No man should be sitting while there is even one woman standing.

2. Open the Damn Door for Her, Even if You Don’t Know Her
This one might be my biggest pet peeve, and I definitely don’t see men do this very much anymore. How many times have you seen a man reach a door before a woman that he may or may not know, and walk in as if she doesn’t exist? Really fool?! Does it take that much to hold the door for a few seconds and let that woman walk in? Even if you find yourself holding the door for a group of women, be like Nike and JUST DO IT! You would want somebody to hold that door for your mother/sister/wife/girlfriend, so why not do it yourself? Its just that simple. I swear it grinds my gears every time I see a guy not hold a door for a woman. It shows pure laziness, not a lack of etiquette.

3. Walk Next to the Street, Closest to Traffic
It shouldn’t be only on a date that a man stands closest to the street when with a woman, it should be an everyday thing. When a woman is walking on the sidewalk, whenever, wherever, a man is supposed to walk on the side of the street next to the traffic. Will a car necessarily come flying into you as you walk to McDonalds? Hopefully not, but dang, a woman shouldn’t be the one about to fall into oncoming traffic because there are too many men on the sidewalk trying to window shop. Plus, what would happen if a car were to run across a puddle and splash water all over your female companion? Do you know how shabbily women’s clothing is made nowadays? That would be a bad look for all involved.

4. Wait for Her To Actually Make it “IN” Safely
So your date is over and you take her back to her place. It’s agreed that nothing else will happen on that evening (meaning, you’re sleeping at your own place) so you’ll quickly drop her off and head home. It’s not always necessary for you to walk her to her door (though it would be nice), especially if her front door is visible and not shrouded in bushes and mystery, so you exchange hugs and maybe a kiss before she walks to the door. Stay there long enough to make sure she opens the door, gives you a little wave to let you know that she’s in safely and closes the door behind her. You never know who or what could be in someone’s home, or could be waiting for them outside of it on the low. If you’re safely and comfortably in the car, what would it really hurt to wait just a little bit longer as she closes the door behind herself, somewhat ensuring that she’s made it in safely? Better yet, get your lazy ass out the car and walk her to her door, no matter what. Be a man about your shit, especially if you want that door to close behind the both of you one day.

5. Move Heavy Objects for Your Lady, or Any Woman
This one should be just plain common sense. There’s something extremely vexing about watching a man look at a woman as she struggles to move something that is clearly too heavy, and fail to ask her if she needs help. Chances are, if you were to stop and offer her some help, she wouldn’t ask you to stop your entire day to come help her move her entire apartment around, so why not help her out real quick? Just the tiniest bit of help, whether you can hold a door for her while she comes out or open a car door for her when she’s ready to load would go a long way. But I’m noticing a lot of fellas are giving off that, “she’ll be alright” face. Stop that bullshit ASAFP!

6. Don’t Let the Conversation Die, or Even Worse, Make it All About You
There’s two types of big errors that can be made by us when it comes to holding a conversation. For one, when we text, call, chat, send smoke signals, or whatever with a woman to show that we’re ready and willing to converse, but have NOTHING to say. Nothing to contribute to the conversation. It’s irritating to women (or anybody, to be honest) when they have to continuously find something to say while the we’re on the opposite end of the phone/computer/table giving short replies to everything. But an even worse error is to hold a conversation with a woman, yet make it all about us: our likes, our thousands of dislikes, why our job is so awesome, etc. We might not realize it, but the more a conversation turns self-centered, the less and less she’s going to feel like continuing that conversation. And then, her interest will wane towards you in general. If you won’t let her make the smallest of points in a conversation without cutting her off to talk about how you beat your homeboy in Madden the other day, why should she give a fuck about anything you have to say?

7. Watch Your F***ing Mouth!
Guys, we tend to get WAY too comfortable around people really fast and wind up talking crazy as if we’ve known them all our lives. When you meet a woman, if some of those 25 cent curse words start flying during what should be a calm conversation about the weather or your day, you have a problem. Same goes for spewing the N word. Not every black person on earth pines to say that word or even feels comfortable hearing it, so assuming she won’t care or you shouldn’t respect her enough to watch your language in front of her is one of those extra non-subtle ways of letting her know you don’t believe in such a thing as “act right.” She’s gonna run for the hills, screaming like a banshee. That goes for reciting song lyrics too. If you know the newest 2 Chainz song that comes on the radio well enough to recite each verse word for word, then you know where the curse words are and can simply mute yourself when they come up.

Now ladies, I know y’all probably giving me a standing ovation for the way I just let the guys know about themselves. And while its true that we’re mostly at fault for our lack of good behavior, that does’t completely clear y’all of any wrongdoing. Below are just a few reasons why you might not be able to meet a guy that will treat you the way you want, or get your current guy to act right. I hope you enjoy this part as much as you enjoyed co-signing all of the above shortcomings of men:

1. You’re Overly Aggressive
Most men can appreciate an assertive woman, but aggressive women come off like dogs in heat—horny and desperate. It’s okay to make your interest known, even spark conversation; but don’t be pushy. No one is going to go out of their way for a girl taking whatever she can get. Men actively pursue women they are interested in talking to. If he doesn’t ask for your number, it is usually because he doesn’t want it. Learn to accept rejection, we have to.

2. You’re Overtly Sexual
Men generally don’t have much respect for women they perceive as easy and/or sleazy in appearance. Leave sex out of the initial conversations or that is what he will come to expect. Balance out your outfits. Once you get thrown into the smash box, there is no coming back. Men don’t see the need in wooing women who wear mini-skirts without panties and see-through leggings. Your clothes should be tight enough for us to know you’re a woman, but loose enough for us to know you’re a lady. Learn how manage that balance, okay? Thanks!

3. You’re Loud
Speaking loudly in public is not classy. In fact, it’s often closely associated with being hood. Guys typically don’t feel it is necessary to try to impress uncouth women. So if you want him to treat you with some class and dignity, act like you got some first.

4. You Pop Your Gum
Among other things, like smacking your food or slurping on your drink. These things amount to an F in Etiquette 101. Guys don’t expect you to expect them to open your door. So, they don’t *shrug*.

5. You’re Militant
That whole angry, black woman thing? Yeah, not so feminine. Men don’t know if you’re going to lecture them on feminism for assuming rights to the bill or coyly oblige. You could be really sweet, but it doesn’t matter if he can’t see it.

6. You Don’t Give Him a Chance
You’re so used to do everything for yourself that, naturally, you take charge before guys get the opportunity to be chivalrous. Nothing wrong with being independent. Just be sure to leave room for him to spoil you a bit, or don’t be mad when he doesn’t even try. Its your decision, choose wisely and don’t complain when you get what you ask for.

7. You Complain, Constantly
A woman who complains regularly is deemed insatiable. Men eventually give up trying to do things to make a woman feel special if she never seems satisfied. Remember what your mom used to always say: if you don’t have anything nice to say, shut the fuck up. Or something along those lines…

8. You Curse Like a Sailor
Just like you don’t want us cursing up a storm in front of you, we don’t want to hear your potty mouth all the time either. Matter of fact, we don’t want to hear it at all unless you’re really, really, REALLY upset. It’s easy for men to treat you like one of the boys when you sound like them. And, guys don’t buy roses for their friends. So, work on that. Once again, if you want him to treat you with some class and dignity, act like you got some first.

9. You Don’t Speak Up
Thanks to the low and/or non-existent standards of some (read:most) women, the rest have to be more vocal regarding their expectations because so many allow men to do little to nothing to show they have common courtesy or even know what it is. I’m not saying it’s your fault men don’t open doors for women like they used to. I’m just saying it’s your fault if they don’t do it for you. A word of advice, broach the subject with some tact. If you come at a man with a bunch of heat in your chest because he didn’t open your door, be ready for a fight. And as shocking as this might sound, it WILL be your fault.

That’s all I got for today. Now I know I pissed somebody off somebody with what I said in this entry or the way I said. Well “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” *Clark Gable voice*. And if you don’t know who Clark Gable is, you should probably go jump off a pier into shark-infested waters or watch Gone With the Wind, whichever works for you. But, until next time, peace and love…