I Don't

"I love the way you look, I love the way you awkwardly flirt, I love the way you kiss me...but do I love you? I don't. Sometimes I start to think I do; in that I'd move across the country to be with you, but what does that really mean? If there was a day you didn't look like a girl on the cover of Vogue, you awkwardly flirted with the guy next to me, and you kept your kisses to yourself? I'd leave, I'd be angry, a little bitter, but would I still hope to see you, to hear your words each morning? No, I don't love you. I love you loving me, but I can't reciprocate. So leave me...leave me now and be free of my love of your love. Find a love that is mutual, not like a bank, but like the mutual love of that couple in the corner booth every morning who still gaze into each other's eyes."

It was not an easy conversation to have. I'd not slept the entire night, working up the nerve, the sheer stupidity to say the truth.

Would her stunned silence ever end? I had said all these words while looking into her eyes. She didn't even seem to blink for fear of letting loose a torrent of tears.

"I...I understand," she halted. "I wish I couldn't, I wish I had no concept of what you were saying...it's not what I wanted you to say this morning."

As I sat there I tried to feel emotion; sorrow, regret, anything but the freeing relief of brutal honesty.

"Would you like anything else?" interupting our fragile balance of interaction, the waitress seemed impatient with my half-second of sheer surprise.

"A piece of blueberry pie would be good, thanks."

Reaching into my pocket I slid out my wallet, dropping a twenty on the table which more than covered our small half eaten plates of breakfast. She finally cracked, the tears washing her perfect make-up off in pale streaks.

There was nothing left to say. Standing, I placed my hand on her shoulder, "I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy the pie."

The door swung slowly and then seemed to release and slam at the last moment. It was not satisfying, but it was sure, on the cusp of, but lacking the quality of being resolute.

You should give me money to do cool stuff like sharpen pencils and smell good...

So I'm doing the college student over the summer thing and trying to find a job...after writing some serious cover letters and prepping for interviews and what not I've figured a few things out...so here's my much more accurate and helpful cover letter:

Hey,
My name is Michael Turner, you can call me on my cell phone (422)-555-3328. Anyways, I honestly think I work pretty hard and have some serious skills. I've mowed lawns and worked on farms for the last few years, I get crazy good grades in school (seriously, look at my GPA on my resume), I like talking to people - like old people, young people, crazy people, heck I'll even say "hi" to a politician or a lawyer if that's part of my job -, moving along, I'm skilled in making up anything that sounds good to deal with dumb blondes or your mother-in-law, and I'm a desperate college student so I'll work in pretty much the worst place ever on virtually no pay with you for my boss and not complain in public.

Getting down to the point, I smell good. Yeah, when you interview me sure to take a good sniff. I'm familiar with basic grooming techniques such as the shower, hair brush, tooth brush, and have learned more advanced arts such as face wash, soap, and cologne, no, not AXE, but stuff which makes people think, "ah, that guy smells good." This is actually remarkably important, before you hire anyone take a sniff and consider whether you want to smell that everyday.

Other than that, I'm somewhat handsome which may help in certain markets, particularly anywhere the creepy old ladies demographic trolls (i.e. supermarkets, drugstores, and the local medicinal marijuana dispensary). I tend not to break things...and when I do I'm a silver level master with duct tape. Seriously important, I've got good taste in music and surprisingly broad. To put it clearly, I'm a freak of nature who can enjoy country music forty hours a week, but can also function on that indie folk rock stuff they play in coffee shops. So give me money and I'll do any random and/or arbitrary menial task you'd like.

- The Home Skooled

P.S. Flirting with creepy old ladies does necessitate being payed ten percent over minimum wage or a daily cup of espresso.