seat no. 26 a ~discontinued~

4. we rhyme

' and so it is, the shorter story.

 no love, no glory.

 no hero in her sky.

 can't take my eyes off you.'

- damien rice, 'the blower's daughter'

fuck, i needed to know your name.

i had spoken to you for a few seconds but everything about you enchanted me. the way you shaped your lips around the syllables of how do you know?and the way you bit your lip when we ran out of conversation.

i cursed myself, because the first thing i said to you was the most effing stupid thing to say to a pretty girl.

you like this book, don’t you?

fucking idiot. i felt like a bumbling sod.

scratch that. i am a bumbling sod.

there was almost something poetic about the way you did everything, and i knew that if i’d been a more eloquent, cultured person i could’ve written a page-long passage on the shape of your lips, the depth of your eyes and the colour of your hair, but all i really knew then, talking to you on the stuffy plane, was that you were beautiful.

what’s your name? i finally asked, gathering all my courage – which wasn’t much.

you looked surprised.

zoya, you said quietly, and i laughed.

something funny?

we rhyme, i informed you. i’m noah.

you blushed a little (okay, a lot) when you heard my name. till this day you refuse to tell me why.