It’s over. Officially. The pretty boy whom I blogged about sitting two tables away from me in first semester psych one year ago pursued me for five months, dated me for nearly two, and broke up with me yesterday.
Six hours into our second date, I was exactly where I wanted to be with the cute junior pre-med student I’d been fantasizing about for months. We’d just finished our post-comedy show dinner at a 24 hour diner and had walked back to the parking lot to find his car (Featured image is my date night outfit). The meal had gone perfectly in every way I would have liked: we played off of each other jokes well, switched naturally from conversation topic to conversation topic, and felt hours go by like minutes as we sat across from each other. Although we’d been chatting nonstop over breakfast foods, when we strapped ourselves into our respective seats, we were silent.
I fully intended on leaving this date with a kiss, and I had to leave the right cues.
He handed me his phone to route Google Maps back to my hotel. I clicked the power button to open it.
I’m writing to you all in a state of panic. I have the total hots for this upperclassman, Charlie, and my feelings for him have only gotten stronger since we began talking at the start of summer break. Although I know that we’ve discussed the prospect of going out on a second date, and have had conversations that have stretched over hours, I can’t help but feel as though I still don’t hold his interest. There will be little spurts where he pays me a flirty compliment, or implies a slight crush, but I can’t help but look for subtext in every text he sends. It’s almost as though my brain doesn’t want him to like me back.
I’ve had the Tinder dating app on my iPhone tease me for a while now. Although I thought I’d given up swiping left and right all together, one boring evening I tapped it open to see who I’d find. I was casually browsing when I’d stumbled upon a familiar face. The curly golden hair, the sculpted jaw, and the soft smile– it was none other than the stunning boy from my first semester psychology class, Charles E. Stetson. His blue eyes gazed into mine through my cellphone screen. What was I to do: swipe left and avoid the possibility of rejection all together, or swipe right and take my slim chances of being liked back? Nervously, I pull his picture to the right. My heart thumps as I let go. Finally, a breath of relief. We matched.
A month ago, a boy asked me out for coffee. I take that back. Not just any boy. I’m talking about the most perfect mold of a human being that I’ve ever laid eyes on: Charles E. Stetson. For context, this boy was the boy in my first semester psychology class whom I wrote extensively about in November for being so freaking attractive (See my …To my Future Husband blog post). A true prince. Tall with curly blonde locks, perfectly chiseled features, and pale blue eyes that could make any girl melt. So forgive me for essentially liquefying into a pool of water when he asked me out.
When it comes to men, I’ve always had a knack for one-sided relationships. Almost every relationship I’ve ever been in has been a product of an intense crush they’ve had on me that I’ve felt too guilty to reject. It’s a cyclical thing that’s always happened like this:
Imagine you’re making out with a really cute guy. He’s got you in his bed, that Summer Walker song is booming on the speaker, the lights are off, and the mood is just right. All of a sudden, he asks you…
This post goes out to Charles E Stetson, the man of my dreams. He doesn’t know it quite yet, but we are very much destined to be with each other. What a beautiful, beautiful human. Every psych class, he sits two tables away from me and my eyes couldn’t feel more blessed than they do looking at his curly hair, glasses, and pullover sweater with the collar of his button down poking out.
He’s the one.