This modern love

What godly figure have I carved you out to be this time. A quiet soul with the softest tones, an artist, musician, a scientist too. I took your silence for mystery, your distance for normality, my crippling anxiety as a reflection of my own flaw of not grasping the concept of chill.

If anything, it was all grossly unfair on my part. The pressure to be this unearthly being, when all you were was a mere swipe. An instant match, so of course we must be right.

Well, what were you then?

He was just a boy, standing in front of a girl, looking for a casual fuck.

For I am just a girl, standing in front of a boy, looking for that tender love.

That tender touch.

A tender hug that isn't so excruciatingly painful that I am made to feel an impostor. God forbid that we role around in lust, yet not talk, have a conversation, just us.

It takes two to tango in this uncertain dance, I curtsy, take a bow, and fight my way through this addictive trance.

No more internal dreaming of narratives worthy of folklore.

No more romanticising everything you are not.

That's right, I thought, you are all out of luck.

Cappuccino, please.

Ah fuck.