![SNOWFLAKES [Brik] Avatar](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lvt95oarTI1qmsg4mo1_250.jpg)
-- gravity -- meg
Feb 18, 2013 3:10:17 GMT -5
Post by SNOWFLAKES [Brik] on Feb 18, 2013 3:10:17 GMT -5
[/color][/center]
Main
Thought
Speech
Other
_______________________________________
The most nerve-racking part of asking someone out for a date, Ryan begins to believe, is not the act of the asking of the question itself, but the waiting for someone to arrive; you can’t stop staring at the door, and when you take your eyes off it, someone walks in and the bell jingles and you jump up in your seat to compose yourself. Then you realize that it’s someone else - a middle aged man who wants to grab his coffee black before he goes to work or a young lady who likes her coffee with tons of sugar and creamer to drink on her way to school. Finally, you settle back down, place your head back on your hand, and you go back to doing what you were before. The process repeats itself over and over until the person you expect to walk in finally does. Painfully tedious, isn’t it?
He can’t believe he even had the fearlessness to do it – he’d never been so lionhearted and bold and oh so venturesome before in his life, and he even began to ask what sort of fool he was when he got home and went to bed after work. However, if he hadn’t spoken up and uttered those few syllables to that girl – Helena – that girl that reminded him of a dove with a broken wing, he wouldn’t have gotten this opportunity to have coffee with her. Ryan would have gone home and called himself a fool anyway, never knowing if she’d say yes to this date he had proposed.
If he could call it that – if anything it was more of a casual meet up. Just an acquaintance offering to have a nice evening with another. He supposed the beginning of a friendship always starts with just a few gestures of kindness, whether it begins as a compliment or picking something up for someone, or in this case, his willingness to buy a young woman some coffee and prattle over miniscule things. Or maybe it really is a date and he’d lost all sense of his self-confidence. Usually he was just full of self pride and spunk, but when it came to the subject of him being a romantic, he wanted to curl in a corner and dwell on the thought that he was just too socially awkward to ever ask a girl out on a date or to kiss a girl at the very least. What Helena saw in him, he would never know. What did he do right for once in his life?
He enjoyed her, he could honestly say so. She had this sort of air of courageousness about her – her willingness to stand up straight with a cane when she looked like she was struggling with the simple effort itself, even with the support from the walking stick. As if she were telling the world ‘no, I can do it’ and remaining unyielding. It was that sort of dauntlessness that was attractive, just that independent self-drive.
Helena was also elegant and graceful, both in movement and speech, her words with a clear unfaltering fluency, her movements were careful and naturally controlled so that her body wasn’t moving in separate motions, but like it was all working together as a system. She was a ballet dancer, so he understood those sort of controlled movements – and it was almost fascinating, to see how the dance form was incorporated even into these everyday activities such as walking and even reaching out to grab something. It was an art form that stuck with you and influenced you – almost like another state of mind in itself, or so he had come to observe. Her speech was the same – it was clear and had a dazzling fluidity, no stutters or falters and always just one clear idea in each sentence. He on the other hand was the exact opposite – ungraceful and jagged and rough around the edges.
He had no idea how someone like Helena could have ever even spared a moment to think “wow, maybe it would be a good idea to accept this loser’s offer for coffee.” Maybe she just didn’t want to be rude and say something like “no leave me alone” or “you’re weird why would I”. He’s lucky Helena didn’t say any of those, and he’s especially fortunate that she didn’t say “sorry, I have a boyfriend already.” Ryan would have never recovered from that and wallowed in embarrassment for a whole week.
Speaking of which, it’s as he’s tracing a bunch of intricate swirls and diamond shapes on the back of a stark white napkin when she walks in. Hearing the shrill jingle of the bells above the door his eyes glance up from the doodles and his hazel eyes find her, that dove with the broken wing. Then he composes himself for what must be the fortieth time so he doesn’t look like a tired deadbeat and raises a hand up to her, a disarming grin stretched on his lips, greeting her. “Hey! How’re you doing? Get here okay?” I fail at everything I do.
[/blockquote] [/justify] [/size] He can’t believe he even had the fearlessness to do it – he’d never been so lionhearted and bold and oh so venturesome before in his life, and he even began to ask what sort of fool he was when he got home and went to bed after work. However, if he hadn’t spoken up and uttered those few syllables to that girl – Helena – that girl that reminded him of a dove with a broken wing, he wouldn’t have gotten this opportunity to have coffee with her. Ryan would have gone home and called himself a fool anyway, never knowing if she’d say yes to this date he had proposed.
If he could call it that – if anything it was more of a casual meet up. Just an acquaintance offering to have a nice evening with another. He supposed the beginning of a friendship always starts with just a few gestures of kindness, whether it begins as a compliment or picking something up for someone, or in this case, his willingness to buy a young woman some coffee and prattle over miniscule things. Or maybe it really is a date and he’d lost all sense of his self-confidence. Usually he was just full of self pride and spunk, but when it came to the subject of him being a romantic, he wanted to curl in a corner and dwell on the thought that he was just too socially awkward to ever ask a girl out on a date or to kiss a girl at the very least. What Helena saw in him, he would never know. What did he do right for once in his life?
He enjoyed her, he could honestly say so. She had this sort of air of courageousness about her – her willingness to stand up straight with a cane when she looked like she was struggling with the simple effort itself, even with the support from the walking stick. As if she were telling the world ‘no, I can do it’ and remaining unyielding. It was that sort of dauntlessness that was attractive, just that independent self-drive.
Helena was also elegant and graceful, both in movement and speech, her words with a clear unfaltering fluency, her movements were careful and naturally controlled so that her body wasn’t moving in separate motions, but like it was all working together as a system. She was a ballet dancer, so he understood those sort of controlled movements – and it was almost fascinating, to see how the dance form was incorporated even into these everyday activities such as walking and even reaching out to grab something. It was an art form that stuck with you and influenced you – almost like another state of mind in itself, or so he had come to observe. Her speech was the same – it was clear and had a dazzling fluidity, no stutters or falters and always just one clear idea in each sentence. He on the other hand was the exact opposite – ungraceful and jagged and rough around the edges.
He had no idea how someone like Helena could have ever even spared a moment to think “wow, maybe it would be a good idea to accept this loser’s offer for coffee.” Maybe she just didn’t want to be rude and say something like “no leave me alone” or “you’re weird why would I”. He’s lucky Helena didn’t say any of those, and he’s especially fortunate that she didn’t say “sorry, I have a boyfriend already.” Ryan would have never recovered from that and wallowed in embarrassment for a whole week.
Speaking of which, it’s as he’s tracing a bunch of intricate swirls and diamond shapes on the back of a stark white napkin when she walks in. Hearing the shrill jingle of the bells above the door his eyes glance up from the doodles and his hazel eyes find her, that dove with the broken wing. Then he composes himself for what must be the fortieth time so he doesn’t look like a tired deadbeat and raises a hand up to her, a disarming grin stretched on his lips, greeting her. “Hey! How’re you doing? Get here okay?” I fail at everything I do.
