Fairy Tales For 20-Somethings: The Ugly Duckling Sits At A Bar
The Ugly Duckling was at the bar, reading at a table in the corner. She didn’t come to bars to meet men, she didn’t concern herself with her love life. She was interested in more important things: Art, the human condition, the fight to end poverty.
Then the guy she’d been eyeing all night left with this girl who was wearing some weird floral jeans or something. It’s always the manic pixie girl that gets the guy, she thought, Fuck you, manic pixie girl!
This post originally appeared at FAIRY TALES FOR TWENTYSOMETHINGS.
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Will it feel the same when you tell me you love me over the phone? Will the peacefulness of those words still floor me from thousands of miles away?
I was conflicted. It felt like one eye was trying to look away while the other soaked it up. I felt the heat rise in my face. This was wrong. But it didn’t feel wrong.
Any nervous flyer knows the progression of descending panic: bile, sweaty palms, social awkwardness and self-induced sedation.
I know how it feels when the weight of darkness crashes down onto your chest in the middle of the night, and how you wish things would stop spinning because the axis seems tilted now. I know, love, I know.