nker

You stop in your tracks.

You remember this feeling.

You shudder at where it is going to lead.

You have not fallen for her yet.

You think you might be though.

You at least keep it in the realm of possibility.

You want it to be different this time but you know better.

You go through a state of denial at first.

You seek out anything to disprove your analysis of the situation.

You have no such luck.

You still see repeating patterns.

You finally acknowledge the feeling dotting the horizon in the distance.

You wonder if perhaps it’s just your eyesight that is failing you.

You remember that you wear contacts.

You wince at your horrible attempt to be funny.

You search for a reason for the sudden change of heart.

You cannot pinpoint where it started.

You realize it was probably more gradual, like a snowball rolling down a hill.

You also realize the feeling is growing, like that same snowball.

You hear “Valerie” by Steve Winwood come up on your playlist shuffle.

You like the name Valerie.

You contemplate giving the name to your hypothetical daughter.

You wonder if she would like the name Valerie though.

You realize that she is somewhat ambiguous given the previous sentences.

You clarify that she is her and not the daughter, incidentally.

You regain your senses and refocus.

You question if the feeling is a matter of convenience.

You hope it isn’t because you want it to mean something.

You just want to feel something.

You become scared that it might actually mean something.

You resolve to go about your life in the same way you always have.

You pretend to be unaffected by the new development and it works for a while.

You slowly question your earlier assessment of her, however.

You may have had it all wrong.

You start to see her a little differently.

You start to admire her various qualities.

You become more acutely aware of her presence in your life.

You now see when she’s on Facebook and your heart skips a little beat.

You hold out hope that one of these times she’s going to engage you in chat.

You continue on with your business.

You always seem to glance at the side panel every few minutes.

You can’t help but notice that little green icon next to her name.

You get bored of trolling through other people’s status updates.

You are ready to sign off.

You see she’s still online.

You make up an excuse to stay logged in for a little while longer, just in case.

You stay a slave to your computer because you don’t have a mobile phone alternative.

You get paranoid because you think she notices you’re online A LOT.

You think she considers it kind of pathetic.

You remind yourself that kind of thinking is foolish.

You know she has plenty of better things to do than notice you.

You actually begin to feel a little pathetic.

You decide to hide the chat panel so you don’t feel as guilty.

You don’t worry about whether she is still there for a little while.

You enjoy perusing humorous e-cards.

You unhide the chat panel again.

You see she has logged off.

You feel a small sense of rejection.

You add another tiny paper cut to your growing list of disappointments.

You wonder how many paper cuts a person could survive if the cuts never healed.

You contemplate posting a cryptic status update that somehow links to her.

You would want her to read it.

You struggle to find the exact words.

You usually just end up staring blankly at the screen and post nothing.

You drink some courage fluid once in a while.

You actually do post something.

You get completely random responses.

You play along with the responders.

You no longer want her to read what the post has devolved into.

You feel like an idiot.

You question why she doesn’t want to engage you.

You consider yourself a solid catch.

You think she could do worse.

You believe you two could actually work.

You have no basis to support that belief.

You are just kind of intrigued by the possibility.

You run down your dating resume in your mind.

You acknowledge the lack of work experience.

You believe the qualifications more than make up for it.

You want to run down the entire list of desirable qualities you possess.

You consider her a person of reason.

You think she would respond favorably to your coherent argument.

You feel it’s a little self-serving to build yourself up so much.

You want to do it anyway.

You decide to table that list for future writings.

You compare your life to a proverbial light switch.

You wonder if she’s just waiting for you to turn it on.

You put yourself in her shoes for a moment.

You think she thinks you only have one major character flaw.

You think that she will snatch you up once that flaw is fixed.

You try desperately to convince yourself that’s all it is.       

You try to devise a way to communicate that your flaw is fixable.

You try some more.

You want to tell her all of this.

You wish it were that easy.

You really just need the ability to read minds.

You recall the Mel Gibson movie where he had that power.

You only need it long enough to gain some insight.

You would then relinquish the power.

You think it would be unfair to read her mind unless she could do the same to yours.

You would be OK with that too.

You are a fair guy.

You would probably be a good judge.

You know you would be a good diplomat.

You have been a good diplomat.

You lament that there is no correlation between diplomacy and your current dilemma.

You don’t know how to proceed.

You send up a few prayers for some guidance.

You attempt to lean on predefined rules you’ve established for these matters.

You disagree with what they’re telling you.

You want to say fuck it and cast them aside.

You can’t cast them aside because they still make some sense in your misguided mind.

You wish you never created those damned rules in the first place.

You pause and reflect.

You crack open the book you wrote before on this topic.

You turn to the passage that feels appropriate given the present circumstances.

You remember this chapter of the story.

You liked what you wrote up until now.

You would like to punch yourself in the head for how the book ends though.

You will eventually get a little frustrated.

You will even get a little angry.

You are usually a calm, collected guy.

You will watch the situation unfold exactly as expected.

You will not do anything to alter the course of fate.

You will believe things are unfolding as they were meant to.

You will marvel at your ability to predict the future.

You will find little solace in your supernatural ability.

You will start to find some of the same faults from before with her.

You won’t care if you’re reaching to find them.

You will use them to soothe your jangled nerves anyway.

You can barely keep your eyes open.

You have been staying up way too late way too often.

You decide to finish writing tomorrow.

… … … …

You have parents who are hosting a party later today.

You would like nothing more than to have an excuse to be out of the house.

You have parents who are more active than you are.

You brush aside the bout of surging depression.

You have a post to finish.

You also have chores to do.

You imagine her saving the day with a request to hang out.

You know, of course, that would never happen.

You have gotten better at managing expectations through the years.

You believe managing expectations is important in many facets of life.

You think it has served you well at work anyhow.

You suppose someone besides her will read your writing and be moved to action.

You don’t necessarily mean for the aforementioned party.

You mean at any time.

You will wonder what their motives are.

You hope you are not giving someone else the wrong impression.

You are pacified that the potential list of misled readers is pretty small.

You ask yourself if any interested party would respond to this on blind faith.

You understand how incredibly brave that would be.

You know you probably wouldn’t.

You therefore cannot expect someone else to come forward.

You have your answer.

You would not have a problem with any female responding to this.

You don’t care if they are interested in you in that way or not.

You could use a greater female influence in your life.

You would appreciate if they made their intentions, or lack thereof, quite clear.

You are not very good at deciphering signals.

You also brace yourself for the usual words of encouragement sure to ensue.

You have learned to never turn a deaf ear to advice, even things you’ve heard before.

You never know when something might click.

You always have hopes for when you write.

You hope it sets a chain of events in motion that will work in your favor.

You know it surely won’t.

You have tried this approach before.

You still hope she actually reads your writings.

You think there is a fair chance she does, at least some of them.

You don’t know what to make of that knowledge.

You caution yourself against grasping for the unknown.

You are not even sure what you really want.

You picture her rolling her eyes right about now.

You have some serious second thoughts about posting everything you write.

You fear you’ve let on too much.

You are an honest guy.

You can be too honest for your own good sometimes.

You ready yourself for many more anxious moments to come.

You also ready for yourself for absolutely nothing.

You cringe at the sleepless nights that are surely in your future.

You absolutely hate that you do this to yourself.

You simply remind yourself that this is life.

You are relieved again by these emotions that you feel.

You approve that they add an almost human element to your often robotic mentality.

You want it to all work out, just this once.

You too?