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There comes that moment while you’re single,

when you’re sitting at a table in a cafe and someone asks you, “is anybody going to be sitting here?” When you reply to them, “no not at all” they politely take the vacant chair and use it for the table that’s directly next to you where it’s needed. Then you’re sitting there staring dramatically at this empty space that used to be filled with an empty wood backside of a chair that now feels like a giant spotlight directly pointing at you. Sort of like you’re being showcased to the world, “hey this young lady doesn’t have enough company around her for a two person table.” 

What you do at that moment is what will defy what stage of single-dome you’re in. You’ll either want to curl up in a ball of defeat, and promptly stop whatever you were doing and go back home to the confines of your room. Or you’ll notice the spotlight, tell it to fuck off, and continue reading your book in rebellion. 

Tonight, I didn’t run back to my flat, nor did I rebel. But I did leave, got myself a cookie, and read somewhere else. Because being single no longer feels like a scarlet letter branded across every top that I have for every one to bare witness to, but it’s still a bit of a nascence to me like a food allergy. Consider it a relationship allergy. But i’m feeling the slow rebellion starting to build inside me, and that’s a small victory in my books.

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For the person who kept asking to see the room i’m occupying in London. 

This is my room. 

Riveting, I know. 

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There was a ghostbuster in the star wars section at the comic shop today.

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Dear couples in a metropolitan city,


I understand, it’s winter. There is nothing more romantic than holding on to your partners hand and walking the congested sidewalk streets side by side during the most high foot traffic time, at snail like pace, extending your time together looking at christmas lights and giggling between you two. You love each other, I get it. You know why I get it?


As much as I would love to have the abilities of Spider-Man to shoot a web from my wrist and cascade from building to building, avoiding all walking traffic, I don’t have it. I have to be the human sighing loudly, saying excuse me walking underneath your interlocked hands, trying to get to the train I probably already missed because of you dickholes. I loathe you with the passion of a thousand suns. 


The asshole stuck behind you

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We rode the train together.

You got on at Oxford Circus, somehow you managed to maneuver yourself around the already crowded tube and found an open seat across from me. You were quite handsome. Tall like me, your legs sprouted around the middle of the train, finding an awkward place to settle that wouldn’t trip people passing by us. You glimpsed up at me and smiled, I smiled back and quickly looked back down, thumbing through my ipod, waiting for you to look away.

I had four more stops to go before I had to get off, I was wishing it would go longer. I didn’t know when you were getting off, and frankly, I was hoping it would be my stop if you did. Maybe I’d gather enough courage to say hi to you by the time we got to the escalators to exit out of the underground. But I digress… 

You were dressed in a very nice business outfit, flipping through the London Evening Standard, and occasionally glancing up. Dark brown hair, almond shaped eyes, olive skin, and freckles sprinkled across your cheeks. You by far had been the most attractive man I’ve seen in this city since I’ve arrived here. We both wanted to say something to each other, but riding the underground isn’t exactly the most personal atmosphere to do so. There I sat, blushing across the seat from you wondering who would make the first move.

"Next stop, Vauxhall station." Our moment was up. I gathered myself, got up to wait by the doors, and slyly looked back to see if this was your stop too. You tucked the paper to your side and looked undecided. The carriage jerked to a halt, I walked out, leaving our end of the train completely empty with only you inside of it. There were only two more stops to go on our line, and unfortunately we weren’t going on the same path anymore. I wanted to hop back on, be forward and ask for your number, but let’s be honest here, I can backpack through a foreign country all by myself, but I can’t ask somebody for their number. I’m not perfect. 

The train geared up to leave the station, the doors were closing and I was hesitant to leave. I looked back one more time to our end of the carriage and there you were looking back at me, smiling. I nodded my head and smiled back. The train disappeared in the dark tunnel, and I stood in the now silent station wondering if I missed our moment. I threw my bookbag over my shoulder, and walked the stairs to exit home. I kept replaying that last 5 minutes over and over again in my head of what if’s. Then I thought to myself, maybe that was our moment. Granted it would have been nice if it extended out of a romance movie and you chased after me the last minute the doors closed on the subway and we lived happily ever after. But maybe that split second of acknowledgement between each other, that mutual flirty smile was the moment we were meant to have with one another. We didn’t last years, we didn’t have an anniversary, and we won’t share an apartment together. But for those seconds, we had something momentarily. And it was enough for me to remember you by. 

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Since i’m on limited funds at the moment I decided to be very “don’t do shit at all” this week. I ended up having to go out anyways to mail my mom her birthday present that I spaced out on, and decided, “you know what? fuck this limited funds shit. I’m buying myself a motherfucking donut today.” 

So I go into the donut store, find myself the most perfect donut in all of thee land, shake my butt in excitement while the cashier puts it in the bag, and begin to walk back home in the cold rain holding my lovely sprinkled donut which so happens to be warming my hands. I didn’t care how much money was in my banking account, this perfection of a creation was worth it.

I get around the corner, and there sitting with a styrofoam bowl, in the cold rain, with barely enough layers on, is a young girl with a sign in bold letters, “Homeless.” Everyone was walking passed her, which is understandable, after awhile in a big city, sadly, the homeless end up blending into the environment. But she wasn’t asking anybody for spare change, she was actually wishing everyone well. “Have a good day miss” “Hope you have a fine evening sir.” I almost walked passed her as well when she gave me a smile and said, “have a safe trip home, miss. it’s quite slippery out tonight, you should see the women that have fallen around here in the past hour!” and then she went on to button up her shirt and continue on with her greetings. I sighed grasping on to my warm donut, walked back to her, and handed her my donut and the spare change I had in my pocket. I said, “I don’t have much to give, but I hope you enjoy the sprinkled donut, it’s my favorite.” She lit up and thanked me over and over again until I walked out of sight. 

A donut will just have to wait until next month. Tis’ the season and all. 

Talk to me