July 2 – “nm”

Twitter would be so much quicker, but this has to stay private. I’m neurotic. Nate found me, and I think everything’s going to be ok. I need to find Eve. She’s here.

Signed,

Thee Arte

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June 24 – 3AM

I’ve been up all night, reading and rereading this poem she wrote. The piece brought me up, and I’m left to only imagine what happened back at Borders. The question isn’t if she likes me anymore, and why I should stop thinking about her, but that we should be together, because it’s right. Right?

I’ve dealt with friends talking about getting with girls, and either crying over each one, or going gay. The latter didn’t seem as bad of a choice, until they started crying over each boy they came in contact with. Man-whore would be a good title for guys that sleep around, and think that it’s okay to mess around without commitment. Some of them deemed themselves as Players and Pimps, others just bash women altogether, out of anger and disrespect, but these folks aren’t my crowd. My friends know better, in fact, they care about the girls they get with, or break up with, or stay friends with…so as long as they can keep their videogames.

I could call her, but what would I say? I could call my friends, but what would they say? I’m finding a hard time getting in the mind of Eve, the girl who I met at Huntington Library, the girl who I saw earlier today walk out of Borders with another man. And in a way, I don’t want to know. I wouldn’t want to take Eve as some simple girl I could put in a box, her poetry shows that she’s educated and a romantic. Thank god! The time I’ve spent just sitting in my apartment, thinking of what happened earlier, I could’ve dialed already. But the idea keeps me hesitant as to how she’s fairing now that another guy’s made a move on her. I mean, this isn’t just some project for her, is it? The poem, the writing, the mention of my name — it’s not all just some assignment she wrote, right?

No no. The paper’s taped on to a frame, the writing is printed, and she obviously wanted to be recognized for the piece…she wanted to be recognized for the piece… I’m worried if this poem was for something else.

I’m becoming obsessed. I have her phone number stained on my finger tips, with ink that I rewrite daily on my skin – something I find meditative and personal. At least this way I know I won’t ever lose her number. I really want to meet her again. She was delightful, and I think it was the best move I’ve ever made on a girl.

I think I should just call my friends before I make a fool out of myself. I don’t want to chase a woman out of obsession. I kinda think that if a girl’s going to meet me for a date, I shouldn’t spout out that stalked her, found her with a man, and now have the key to research everything about her on Facebook…or twitter…or Google…or the Huntington Library Directory… Man…I am creepy.

I really think she might deserve the old guy instead. I wouldn’t wanna date a stalker, if I were her. Sorry Eve, but our date might not be happening…

Sign,

Thee Arte