You’re not handsome, that’s for sure. You’re not even my type! I mean, the man I like is more like metrosexual type, with clean clothes (not that your clothes weren’t clean) and well, you’re just too masculine. With that jeans (I never knew before that a jeans could make a man look so masculine!) and the shirt that you wore that day, I was speechless, I still am by the way. The weird thing is, I still like you. I can still remember the day we first met, over a cup (or three cups? or more? well, we might drink a gallon of coffee but still can’t remember about it) of coffee. I can remember your palm’s texture, the size of it. I still remember the tobacco smell of you, too! Which reminds me, I hate your cigarette you know! I almost said bad thing when you took out your cigarette pack and put it on the table.
But how could I hate you when you asked “Do you mind if I smoke? Because if you do, I won’t smoke.”
Tell me how could I hate you?!
And how could I hate you when you listen to my crazy talk? Though at some points, it seemed you lost your focus, but that doesn’t matter, sometimes I do that too. And how could I not like you with all your stupid jokes? You know what, I think that day was the best day of my life, one of the best. I’ve never laughed so much!
I started to like you that day.
*Permission has been given by Danny Roozen to use the image in this story. You can check his photography gallery here : http://shadowness.com/Dynnnad