The Most Romantic Breakup Story Ever

I was recently asked if I had a breakup story to share.
This is the story –

When I would close my eyes and think of her, I would see her smile. It forms ever so slowly to where her eyes squint softly, her cheeks begin to glow, and then the tiniest of dimples appear as if to remind you that there is indeed pure beauty in this world.

Angelic elegance.

Her smile more than plants your feet on the ground because it’s made up of empathy, compassion, and the type of selfless love that tells you that you are home.

If you don’t smile when she smiles, you have no heart. Her smile could make your heart ache with comfort.

In this moment she wasn’t smiling.

Her eyes looking down. I was in front of her as she was in front of me. The lady’s back leaning against the wall of her bed, while I sat idle on a stool in the middle of her room.

The only noise that could be heard was a sniffle from her nose, the pensive scratching from my nails, and the lamp’s bulbs radiating energy from being on for too long.

We were just trying to make sense of the last two hours.

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The Time I Stole

I was recently asked to tell a time when I stole something.
This is the story –

In my freshman year at UC Berkeley, I lived in a dormitory called Bowles Hall. It looked and felt like the gloomy structure of an exact replica of Hogwarts.

The only difference was the ability to find an amazing woman like Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, or an Angelina Johnson to be walking the halls… because women didn’t exist at Bowles Hall!

Yes.
No women.
No magic.

It was an all-male dormitory with men growing into their prepubescent bodies and their strides of deodorant sticks. It was less of a Harry Potter story and more of a Lord of The Flies type situation.

And on this particular day, like any other day, I found myself vehemently arguing with my roommate, Greg.

Listen, Greg is a great roommate. The only issue is he was (is) a very vocal right-wing conservative. And, to his credit, I can be a boisterous liberal lefty.

I loved President Obama.
He thinks President Obama is one of the worst presidents in American history.

We argue from pro-choice issues all the way to the fundamentals of whether or not systematic racism exists. Our debates get loud – and at the young age of 18… they often got violent.

That day wouldn’t be any different.

Me: FUCK YOU
Greg: FUCK YOUUUUUUUU!

Continue reading “The Time I Stole”