10. The Man of My Dream

we all used to have this idea as a little girl about the man of our dream and he must be perfect and know everything. must be older and a lot smarter than we will ever be
at least i once did. It's just when it happened, it all turned out that he didn't look like that at all.
the man of my dream doesn't look like the man of my dream at all.
in fact, he doesn't quite look like anything but himself.
cosmic latte skin and jet black hair and leather jacket and ripped jeans. like he fell off the sky and straight into this world he doesn't look like he belongs to.
the man of my dream likes his egg scrambled, and an americano with it.
"the usual?"
he's looking out the window again. he's always looking out the window before looking back at me, all soft features. he smiled as soon as our eyes met and gave me this small nod.
"work's good?"
i smiled back. "it's okay."
it's not. but i get to see you.
we never really talk much for all i know he's not one for words. he's not one for small talks about the weather or the sun or the song playing at the diner today.
he didn't say anything else but his smile widened and it really made my whole day.
i should stop, really.
i couldn't.