Met the most beautiful guy last night who walked me to my tram stop and asked about my writing. Turns out he is a writer too (he performs spoken word once a week at a bar). His favourite colour is blue, he lives in Mondrich and he is studying arts, majoring in psychology...
He laughed when he said that. "I'm not sure if I'd be a good counsellor, I'd probably agree when someone said they want to kill themselves. I know how they feel; I have a very pessimistic view of the world."
He got mad at some guys for teasing him about sleeping with a girl last week because, "it wasn't just sex, it was emotional too." I love that. I love that guys can have a strong attachment to the act of sex, it's often so trivialised in the media; as if guys are driven by their cocks and girls their hearts (or if we want to be even more sexist, their ovaries). If I took my clothes off in front of anyone, it would have to matter.
I want to see him again and ask about his brother and his assumptions about me, and keep flirting shamelessly because it was the perfect balance between happiness and honesty. The funny thing was, I didn't mind telling him things about me. I sort of wanted to...I don't care that he is a boy, I want to kiss him and write poetry about his lips.