You ever get to that point where like things are awful but you know things will be better in a few months but like you need to get through that period of time and you wish you could just go on autopilot through it but you have to be present in order to make sure stuff gets back to the good place but meanwhile you just wish you could sleep through the whole thing?
…
Yeah, that.
Sometimes, I yearn for the little touches above the grandiose acts. I want to experience that small, swimmy feeling of being told what I am going to be drinking and how much, of having it ordered for me while I just sit there in silence. Sometimes, it’s really those little things that tug at me.
“You know, you’re very pretty,” that guy from my frat said as we waited for drinks.
I chuckled and looked over my shoulder at him, “that’s it? You’re not terribly poetic, you know.”
“Oh, come on, Ivy,” he feigned dismay. “I do science. I don’t do overtures. You want a metaphor, fine? You’re as pretty as a Diels-Adler reaction.”
“A what?”
“A Diels-Adler reaction. It’s when…” From here, he explained something scientific that went completely over my head. Noticing my confusion, he cut himself off and said, “it’s really pretty. There. There’s your metaphor.”
I moved up closer to the bar and shook my head, “that’s a simile.”
“Okay, Ivy, okay, a simile,” he placed his hand on my hip. “You’re pretty like a barium cloud.”
“That’s another simile."
"It’s beautiful, I promise,” he said and used his free hand to grab me a drink.
I smiled, “I’ll take your word for it.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
I guess we all have our own sorts of poetries.