An Open Letter to the Gent I Like,

Hello. How are you? Great. Me too.

You look nice. You always look nice. I always want to say you look nice, but every time I try to give a compliment it comes off as insincere. SO... you look nice. No, that wasn't sarcasm. Ugh.

Your eyes are particularly blue tonight.

Um. So, I know you've made out with a few of the girls I know. And that's cool. Hell, if I were attractive, I'd make out with a bunch of attractive people too. But for some reason whenever we're in a social setting, regardless of who you came with or who is around, you always find your way to me. You hug me like you mean it. The last time you wouldn't let me go for a solid 30 seconds. We always talk and laugh and have genuinely interesting conversation. Why do you do that?

We flirt pretty hard and I've all but said the words "I like you". Is it that you need to hear them? Because I do. I like you. So much so that it's taken over my blog. My blog where I've shamed women who do exactly what I'm doing right now. You make me stammer when we talk. No man has ever made me stammer. I'm not the stammering type. I've given you every opening and opportunity to make a move. And while you've made so much progress over the past year and have very clearly gotten more comfortable around me and with flirting with me, there's still something missing. You made out with those girls, but you talk to me and flirt with me even when they're around. But if you made out with them, then you're clearly not too reserved to seek out what you want. Is that the problem? Am I misreading your seemingly clear signals? You see, you leave me confused. I don't want to mistake your sweet, kind nature for flirtation... and most of the time I don't feel like I'm mistaken at all. Until we part ways. Then it's brief texts and nothing until I see you by chance again.

So if you're out there in the ether reading this somehow, just know that I do like you. Know that I'd like to hear about your job and your life and your stories. I'd like to know you. And as much as I envy the girls I know you've made out with and regardless of whether or not I'm misreading your signals, I'm honored that you choose me to talk to when there's a room full of people probably far more interesting than I.

I have nothing to hide anymore.
So, if you're not out there in the ether reading this somehow, you will know soon.
And so will I.

Like,
Shface