It was if I was as if my eyes were staring into a profound long shot, and at the midst of everything was what they targeted, a 40 inch flat-screen TV, and so, I made my way to check the schedule for the delayed flights. The waiting area gave the appearance of a maze, the boundaries and pathways of it were assembled with a conglomeration of bickering travelers, whose warped voices floated as fast as excited particles throughout the chilled air. I struggled, carrying along a bulky, old canvas backpack that was ¼ of an ounce away from brutally mutilating my suntanned shoulders, and as I entered this maze, my mental compass shifted to that of Ms. Pacman’s. Minutes later, just as my eyes mirrored the fluorescent, lightning light of the TV, I looked to the left and there sat the only guy to ever make my heart shake like trembling hands.
I felt like the voices floating in the air, except I was floating with harmony, the clutches of gravity no longer seized me down. His mid-length ebony black hair mirrored the shine of his black pearl eyes, as his side-swept fringe gently caressed his soft olive tone skin. He wore a slim cottony white and gray striped shirt that looked like layers of clouds and star-lighted skies, gray skinnies and a white shark-tooth necklace. His style was simple. It did not consist of gag-inducing, flashy neon colors such as vomit green or electrifying jaundice yellow, with obnoxious and exaggerated emphasis on the hair. But what attracted me with the gravitational pull of Venus was how insightful he looked in his Elvis Costello eye glasses as he looked profusely into his laptop screen, eyebrows furrowed and lip bitten. He gave the appearance of being a total nerd, the type of guy that would tweet “May the force be with you.”
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