Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

an imagination of hopeless romanticism

A man is sitting at a table in a restaurant, sipping what looks to be a Dr. Pepper. A plate is in front of him, with scattered scraps of food on it. The restaurant is semi-full, with people around him speaking Spanish when all he really knew, aside from the English language, was French. Let’s say his name is Tim, though it doesn’t really matter what his name is. He notices someone somewhat elegantly walking past him, and is instantly smitten. It must have been the hair. It must have been something.

Tim writes something with a pen that was inexplicably in his jacket, onto a napkin. The someone, let’s say her name is Sarah, or Robin, it’s for the reader to decide, stood no more than five feet away.

His note read:

“i don’t know your name.
if we are to meet again,
would that just prove fate?”

She walks past him, without any sort of acknowledgment. Tim hears the bells above the door ring her exit, and returns to sipping his Dr. Pepper.

Advertisements

One Comment on “an imagination of hopeless romanticism”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s