Stonecrop Magazine

We know where we wanna go.

It seemed like another ordinary day walking through the union building, coffee in hand, on my way to class. The union is the last place I wanted to be, but it was raining. So I impatiently weaved through people with my head down—sacrificing my typical outdoor route for dry shoes.

Then I saw you.

You were sitting in a corner, furiously typing on a mac, clearly caught up in the end-of-semester frenzy. Your button-up shirt made you appear as though you had things together, although the slight wrinkle of fabric and glazed-over eyes indicated the more likely reality of many late nights staring at that screen. It seemed to be your lunch break, and you had packed your lunch, probably to maximize efficiency. In fact, it had likely been thawing in your bag all day, waiting for the glorious break in work that a growling stomach would inevitably program into your mid-afternoon.

In this moment, my heart skipped a beat.

But it wasn't from the focus in your gaze, your apparent passion toward your work. It wasn't from your clean white shirt which I imagined my face pressed against. The flutter in my heart occurred when I noticed your choice in lunch. In this moment, it all became clear what I have been waiting for in a man. The reason every past relationship has failed, the reason I felt an overwhelming urge to be with you despite knowing nothing more about you than your taste in food.

It became quickly apparent that you are a man who knows what he wants, and goes after it with confidence. A man who won't let judgment stop you from public consumption of a family-sized party platter wheel of cold cocktail shrimp.

And I want nothing more than to be taken by you with the same tenacity represented with each titillating dip of your cold seafood meal in cocktail sauce. And to go with you away from here: to the sea, to the moon, to red lobster.