I Fell In Love With This:

An Open Letter To That Guy At That Party With A Spare Cigarette

From the other end of the yard, I saw you, an athletically built man with cigarettes rolled up in his shirtsleeve. At first, I felt bad asking. I mean, even though we were at the same party, we had never met; I didn’t (and still don’t) know your name. A friend of a friend of yours told me your name was Karl, but a different friend of a friend told me that first guy was totally wrong.

Either way, I walked up cautiously. You were having a conversation with two girls. One had a nose piercing and wore a baggy top that made an ambiguous tent shape of every part of her torso, except her nipples. The other was a blonde who was nodding along while she rolled a joint. You were telling them about the time when you brought a surf board to Bonnaroo and “crowd surfed” in a very literal sense. It had been a key moment in your summer, and a testament to your innate sense of balance. They giggled and the blonde girl handed you the joint, because, although she rolled it, it was your weed and she found you attractive. I waited for a lull in the conversation and asked you timidly, “would you happen to have a spare cigarette-” and, not knowing what to call you, I added, “-man?”

The pause that ensued could not have been more than half a second, but I felt whole lifetimes pass before my eyes. You looked up at me—this destitute stranger—while you took an impressive hit from the joint. This moment of hesitation was just the space you had ...

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P.S. Bookmark Thought Catalog. Its such a cool random site. Or maybe I'm just a simple random girl *shrugs*

Ta