what are we doing with our lives
me: cooper.
him: yes?
me: what are you doing?
him: uh, nothing.
me: i'm not an idiot. you've been sitting here scribbling on that damn sheet of paper for the past hour.
him: i'm just finishing up some notes from last math class.
me: hah! you don't do notes.
him: ... well.
me: oh, is this a poem?
him: give it back!
me: you do know that nothing rhymes with orange, right?
him: ...
me: why don't you pick something like pink? or blue?
him: ...
me: have you seriously just been sitting here trying to rhyme that one word?
him: no...
me: oh my god.
him: stop laughing!
me: is this for.. me?
him: why are you still laughing?
me: oh god, i can't even-
him: if you don't stop laughing we're going to get kicked out of the library.
me: this is - this is gold.
him: your mom is gold.
me: i can't believe you tried poetry!
him: it's romantic!
me: no, it's hilarious!
him: okay, i think you've laughed enough.
me: i - i can't! oh god this is so hilariously bad, i think i might love you!
him: ....
me: .... i mean, er, that was a joke!
him: ....
me: could you please stop smiling?
him: ....
me: it's creepy.
scribbled over a library book card, never returned
YOU ARE READING
little talks
Randomi needed to write down almost everything he had said, to reassure myself that he had been real, that we were something that lasted; at least for a little while. - nina [ © jude rigor two-thousand-&-thirteen ]
