It's around two thirty in the morning, Tuesday morning, and I am at a loss of words.
I was sleeping, all cozy wrapped up in my favorite comforter dreaming of blonde haired boys with dancing eyes, and right when it was getting to the good part, my phone woke me up. Or rather the noise my phone makes when I get a new text message.
For a moment, I glance at the table next to the bed and debate whether or not to look at the phone or to try to fall back asleep so i could find out how that nice dream ended.
But since I rarely get text messages at two thirty in the morning, I decided to reach over and check out the asshole who chased away that sexy blonde from my dreams.
To make a long story short, or just to try and cope with what just happened, I'll blurt it out and forgo the long winded digressions and rants.
It was a text message from Mark, remember him, my straight boy crush. Yeah, the message was only four words long, it said, wish you were here.
Why am I experiencing this loss of words? Because it wasn't what he typed that sent my head spinning, it was what picture he sent that sent me flying out of bed and rushing out to the balcony in my boxers to have a cigarette.
I won't lie, it was a nice picture. But damn it, I thought this was settled. I'm going insane. I'll never be able to control myself now. Even with the cold night air, I had enough excitement to send him a picture back with this message
Yeah, so do I.
Damnit, I fucking hate him.
I'm going back to bed. Maybe that blonde will return and finish what the bastard started. I can only hope.