Just a Guy

“He’s just a guy. Just a guy,” I mumble, more to myself, but of course everyone around me can hear what I’m thinking.

I’m sitting alone at a table kind of people watching, but really staring down the door every time the bell rings and light spills through the open door and another stranger walks in. But it’s not you. I sit alone at this “well loved” bar across this big ass city, waiting to meet you. You are the stranger I’ve never met before. You are the stranger I gave personal details to even though we haven’t truly connected on a level that can only be achieved with being face-to-face.

And as much as I’m worried you were secretly cat-fishing me the entire length of our virtual conversation, I’m more worried about myself. Me. What if you walked in the door, took one look at me and decided that it wasn’t worth it? I wasn’t worth it? What if I’m not skinny enough, or pretty enough to be able to be seen with you in public? What if you decided that I looked better in pictures instead of in person and you chose to walk away?

All the what-ifs in the world are going through my mind as I sit there adjusting my dress and draping my sweater over my shoulders just in case there was too much cleavage and to comfort my nerves. I look up to the ceiling and take a deep breath, anxiously hoping that when I open my eyes you will be standing there. You’ll be standing there waiting for me to open my eyes, all judgements cast aside and a willingness to just get to know me. ME.

If you were to get to know me, really know me you’d find a girl with a big heart, a creatively crazy mind and a willingness to help when she’s needed. I’m the girl who’s awkward at new situations, anxious to please anyone she comes across and scared nobody will like her. Self-conscious should be my middle name, I blush at compliments before brushing them off and I don’t notice when guys notice.

Call me damaged, I don’t care. Call me whatever you want. Just say –

“Hello,” he said.

I look up, and it’s you.

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