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I'm Vania Stephanie Hosen, currently twenty-three. I suck at self-introduction, and even worse on self-explaining. See? Now you get what I mean. And oh, I speak fluent sarcasm.

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Tuesday, October 28, 2014 | 3:38 PM | 2 comments (+)

I'm sipping my hot vanilla latte and trying to be as natural as possible fixing my sitting posture. My cup isn't hot anymore, not even close to warm. The guy, this guy in front of me, just corrects the position of his glasses. He has this pair of shimmering dark brown eyes. The eyes which have captured my attention for the past three hours. Wait, it has been three hours already? Taking the fact that I'm not a conversationalist most of the time, it is odd to process the idea that I've spent hours in a coffee shop chatting with this sole guy. 

His voice is so soothing, I feel like could listen to his deep husky voice for the rest of the day. Then I am startled by my own mind, feeling like giggling on how stupid and how high-teen I just sounded like. Maybe it's because of his strong first impression. Or maybe it's because of his enthusiasm when telling me his passion and objectives in life. Or maybe I'm simply intoxicated over his molted and well-sculpted dimples.

Wait.. The guy just stopped talking. Now he looked me quizzically, both of his eyebrows raised. I think he just asked me a question. Snap! What was the question?

"Didn't you also start to get irritated when the rest of your family intensively checking your status up?" He repeated his question with a soft chuckle.

It's been just three hours and I've started to make my own fictional overly sugared romance over here. Thankfully he seemed to not notice my wild imagination. Or did he? If he -by chances- did, would I be forgiven for being such an amateur for this kind of hookups?

I know the tense is inexcusable. Why would he expect a shit from a first encounter? Maybe I really am drunk and overly caffeinated from a cup of chilled-out coffee. Or maybe it is simply because it is him. Because I have this high hope that probably he could write my story differently.

Oh boy... You really are a cursed, wretched, and stupid idle-headed moron. I cussed myself.


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