my love is like a cuban plane

i thought i had something to say tonight.

there was a girl in the coffee shop a couple hours ago. i was sitting in one of the big chairs in the corner, trying to read while being wholly consumed by the music from my laptop. daydreaming mostly. see, she was sitting on a couch in the other corner, doing something or other. just her. i couldn't decide if i'd seen her before, didn't have a good angle, but she was familiar. but i sat there thinking... how do i meet someone like that? how is it i become friends - or closer - to a complete stranger? it's not something i've done before, not without extenuating circumstances. classes, labs together, mutual friends etc. for some reason, i dreamed she'd walk over to me and ask me for my favorite album of all time. i'd ask her if she meant my favorite right now and when she agreed, i'd have to tell her it was the soundtrack i was listening to. in the daydream, she just nods and walks away. i call after her, stop her, walk over and talk to her, not because i'm offended or anything but because that's exactly something i see myself doing. and i would tell her, well, how about a top seven? ten? i hate excluding things.

after a while, she started putting her stuff away and i watched through the hair that fell in front of my face. before she walked out she put on this camouflage jacket that i knew i'd seen before... in film class. somehow we would talk, maybe because of this albums discussion. i'd sit next to her in film and be painfully aware that i switched seats and feel like everybody else notices too. someday she'd ask me what it is about her i liked anyway, having never met her. and i'd tell her: the way you dress. the way you handle yourself. how you're quiet but don't appear shy. how you sit alone on the side aisle in film class (i can't think of any other girls who don't sit with other girls)... basically, how you are so self-contained and seemingly ok with everything that goes on. you don't need people. how you walk back up to north campus alone. it's refreshing. it's how i am. (oh, and you're beautiful too)

and even though that momentary dream is wonderful in itself... i can't help but wonder what the hell she would say about me.

i realized for the hundredth time a couple days ago at the beach that whenever i write, i tend to say the same thing. not because i mean to, i just fall into a comfortable conversation. and whenever i get to writing about that (what really matters) i always think of the same things, the same people, the same person, first. does that mean anything?


and yeah, i know exactly what would make me happy.