10.20.02
You can call me Pavlov's dog
Conversation:
Mom: I hope he doesn't get his heart broken.
Girl: Ah, the second one doesn't hurt as bad anyway.
Mom: It does if the love is true.
I guess with very situation you go through, there is a point afterwards where you tell yourself it wasn't real love, and that you never really cared all that much. And maybe it wasn't real, and maybe it was. It was as real as anything at the time. But looking back? It wasn't true. It wasn't one hundred per cent of me, even then, and deep down, I knew it.
Today was good, and last night was even better. Filled with rum and beer and dancing and kisses and hugs, and flirting with that same married man who I can't get out of my head the day after I see him.
He tells me lines and lines and lines. Askes me to take him home, to make out with him, to have sex with him. And I say no, but I still let him flirt, and let him casually touch my ass, my shoulders. And I let him buy me drinks.
Even though I know it's lines, I like to believe them. He told me I have a smile that won't quit. And he told me that I'm hot, and that I make his stomach jump when he sees me. He asked why I won't give him a chance, and I said because he was married.
I have my suspicions, that he only wants me because I won't let him hit it, and that if I did let up a little he wouldn't be so thrilled with the idea of me. So I'll let him love the idea of loving me, and stop thinking about him by tomorrow or the day after. And he'll go home to his wife, and his baby boy who just started walking. And realistically, he won't think about me till next time he sees me, and that's fine.
I have practice at seven tomorrow morning and a test at one thirty, so I'm going to bed. Goodnight
wunderwuman at