First, you’re going to meet him somewhere. But that’s not the part where he directly asks for your number and take you out on a date the next day. You’re first going to stare at each other’s eyes a million times until your inner being says ‘Fuck it. I’ll talk to him’. But no, you’ll never come up and talk to him. You’re going to wait for the right moment and eventually, after all the waiting, wondering and hoping, it will happen.
He’s going to ask for your number and ask you out after your 1000th text. You’re going to have an amazing time and realize you’re completely and utterly head over heels. It’s going to feel great. It’s going to feel like one of the best things that could ever happen. And, somehow, it is.
Then you’re going to worry. You’ll worry that you’re not good enough. You’ll worry that at some point, he’s going to find someone. Better, prettier, skinnier. You’ll worry that you’re just wasting your time. You’ll worry that he’s not really that into you and believe the Hollywood stereotype that boys know nothing but games. You’ll worry that you’ll never really click because he’s this and you’re that. You’ll worry that you’ll never be compatible because again, he’s this and you’re that. And then you’ll worry some more.
You’ll start acting all weird and strange. You wouldn’t want to text him that often so he’ll think you’re playing ‘hard to get’. You’ll obsess over things he loves that you actually hate, because maybe it would make him like you more. But really, he’s going to know you’re faking it. You’ll get annoyed and upset over the smallest things, like replying to your texts 10 minutes late. You’d start preparing yourself for a broken heart.
You’ll cry. You’ll cry because you didn’t want to end things. You’ll cry because instead of over-thinking, you should’ve lived every moment of it while it’s there and stop making up stupid ‘What if’s in your mind. You’ll cry as you replay all the feelings and memories you’ve had with him and realize it wasn’t everything that you could do, you can show him more. You’ll cry because all along you knew he wasn’t playing the field, he was taking it seriously. You’ll cry because you destroyed something beautiful.