Hyde Park Romances

They have a their own place in the grass outside Kent it’s shady but not too much and she uses his stomach as a pillow and everything feels right in the world.

Their crazy sexual tension is about to reach breaking point and it’s going to be happy messy love.

They had just started chatting, the ball had started rolling, the ice had just been broken, etc.

And then, he sneezed, causing his nose to start bleeding.

Well, then.

He was on the mats at Henry Crown, push ups, sit ups, stretches.

As she was walking into the ladies’ locker room she looked up. Her eyes met his.

And just at that very wondrous moment, that split second of I-see-you-you-see-me, she opened the door forcefully into her foot.

They stopped moving forward

with every step that they took.

Sometimes, now, there were backwards steps.

Things began to feel

disjointed.

The sun is shining.
The birds are chirping.
The grass is growing greener.
The flowers are bloomi-

“FUCK YOU, FLOWERS” she thinks, sniffling.

Allergies are interfering with her full enjoyment of spring quarter, if you get what I mean.

He asked her to write him a poem.

She doesn’t write poetry.

Only graffiti.

And short stories.

Sitting in class, she thought he was cute. But then she looked down. There was a scooter by his chair. A SCOOTER. Are you KIDDING me?

They often jog past each other along Lake Shore Drive, headphones in, eyes on the horizon.