Samuel Leighton-Dore

I could tell you, in all honesty, that it wasn’t you – but you probably wouldn’t believe me. In the face of unrequited affection, it’s always our fault.

After surviving the mandatory Alcohol-Adele-Sleep-Repeat cycle, I found myself in a strange state of consistency – both in the regularity of my thoughts and the solidity of my physical being.

When we let our second-date nerves take over we risk running our mouth into the ground, and burying those magical sparks of love right along with it.

In the brief amount of time it takes to reach your train station, hit the front of the lunch line, or collect your latte, you’ve somehow managed to project an intricate life together with this person, and, as you obviously know nothing about them, you kindly, thoughtfully, take the initiative of filling in the blanks.