Heated

It Wasn't Real

I brought myself back to my apartment building, arms full with groceries I'd picked up on the way back and the pad and pen in my back pocket. The unsatisfied feeling stuck in my chest, and I wasn't sure why, and it's strange that I feel it now. I never felt this way when I left home, didn't move on to college, or even when I ended up with a small part time job working in the park district. None of those things were the best in the world, yet I wasn't dissatisfied with where I got with those decisions. My place was alright, I don't need pricey furniture to feel cozy, and I think I visit my mother enough to not miss home so much, plus cleaning up and seeing those kids at the park wasn't torture. So why would I even consider those as options for feeling this way? Exactly, I wouldn't. But this... Had an unknown cause.
Whatever, I'll figure it out.
Eventually.

I began taking the groceries out of the bags, placing them in the correct spots in cabinets and the refrigerator so they wouldn't spoil. Everything had its place, and I was careful about where I placed them. If something intruded, I would know right away, but sometimes something snuck past. Once I accidentally left all the potatoes and the onions close together, I only realized when they all spoiled too quickly. Never leave your potatoes with your onions. I don't even like onions, but that just goes to show how much I won't even notice something that sneaks in.
But then again, that was kind of my fault.

Finally after five minutes, the cans were all stacked, the vegetables were refrigerated, and the fruits were placed in a basket on the island. Everything was complete. To reward myself, I reached over for a green apple, rinsing it off in the sink then took a large bite. The sour yet sweet taste was absolutely delicious, making up for my lack of breakfast almost instantly. I hummed and moved around the island to head to the living room, pulling out my pad and pen from my back pocket on the way. A little more doodles wouldn't hurt much, plus I needed to keep myself busy while I ate the apple. During the doodling session on the uncomfortable leather couch, I found myself drawing more birds than usual. Swans, cardinals, blue jays. Blue birds. Mostly blue birds. Two of them following after each other, playing in a bird bath, splashing water in a pond while flying just above the surface of the water. I filled up two pages, maybe ten pages of blue birds standing in trees behind nests, I drew baby blue birds hatching from eggs and begging the mother for food. I drew a man next to the tree. His face was childish, just like the one I met today. I was drawing him, and his blue bird eyes.

I was just getting to those twinkling eyes when my blue pen ran out of ink.

In my frustration and tiredness (because by now at least a couple hours had passed, and it was starting to get late), I tossed the items aside. I sighed heavily and ran my fingers through my hair, shutting my eyes. Why was I drawing him? Sure, he was pretty attractive, but maybe that was it? I did have a tendency to draw good looking people. Of course, that had to be it, why wouldn't it be? I've drawn plenty of celebrities and other people I knew, so why wouldn't I draw this one? Yep, this is the logic I'm gonna stick with.

I stared at the face I'd created, nose perfectly detailed, lips shaded, jaw chiseled. It all matched up, and maybe better. But it really was a damn shame that I couldn't finish those eyes. They would've been the perfect finish, I would've made them glossy to even try and imitate how they twinkled. It was like he'd cried a thousand nights straight, and now they forever remained glassy like marbles. And he had such long lashes, a bat away from sending a twister through that warm café. His pupils were interesting things really, it's like they paid no attention to light like how they're supposed to, and unsteady were at the mercy of emotion. They constricted when he was focused, serious, and they extracted when he was happy, or like he found his personal high within something he spoke about. Sometimes they had gotten so big I felt like I could just jump in and melt, it would probably feel so warm to be his gaze rather than be within his gaze...
Wait... What?

"No-" I started, sitting up straighter this time. I wasn't talking to anyone in particular, really mostly at myself. "Don't you go thinking like that. You are not going to think that way about him."

But I wanted to.
I wanted to daydream about spending more time sitting in that cafe with him, and maybe I'll bring a sketch pad with me next time. Just 'out of habit', and I could draw him! He'd probably wanna see it, keep it even, but I would be selfish. I think I would wanna keep it. He probably wouldn't let me keep it. I guess I'll just have to get that kind of paper that some delivery boys use with receipts, the kind that prints through? Or would that be too creepy?

Groaning, I began to stand."Why am I thinking about this?" I brought my hands up to my face and rubbed my eyes, causing them to push my glasses up. "Maybe... Maybe I'm just over thinking it, this usually happens with the good looking ones. It's the aesthetics right?"

No one responded, of course. I wasn't expecting one.

It was pretty early for bed, sure, but at this rate it might not be a bad idea. Plus I'll have more time to dream and clear my head, things will be alright in the morning. These thoughts are just intrusive, and they're as real as the cartoons I make for a living. I'm not feeling anything, I'm completely certain about this.

I think.