I came home to a massive bouquet of flowers from Aimee! What a total and complete babe, she even spelled my name correctly. In addition to Vince sending me Midnight in Paris, getting a job that is better than what I wanted in the first place, and the pending celebration tonight, this just may be the BEST birthday ever!
some flowers just arrived for my sister but my mom thought they were for me.
and so she asked if they were from henry and of course i asked what the hell she was talking about
and she was like “henry, the boy you’re always talking about.”
she meant henry david thoreau.
i quote henry david thoreau so much my mom thought henry david thoreau was my boyfriend
Today is Friday. Friday, last week, I met Aimée. Aimée was training to work as a barista at my café. She is a 25 year old from Canada.
After work on Friday, I had a date. Turned out, it wasn’t a date. I wasn’t very happy afterwards. I met up with her, and we went out together. We had a very, very fun night. She had only been in Melbourne, and Australia all together for about four days. She has spent the past six months hitchhiking and backpacking around New Zealand. She tells me all of these extravagant stories about it.
She was staying with these couch-surfers in Melbourne, and it was an awkward situation for her. She kept telling me how she didn’t like Melbourne, how she didn’t like the job, and she wanted to travel to Byron Bay by next week.
I invited her to come stay at my place while she figured things out.
So, she has been staying at my house this whole week. We have had a lot of fun going out and hanging out. It’s awfully funny how we connected so well. But I had this fleeting obligation about it.
She had been talking about leaving for Byron Bay next week but hadn’t made any plans. Today, while I was at work, she texted me, “I’m sorry”, and it made my heart drop…
Because I thought she might have taken her bags and bolted. Because I thought I would never see her again. How could she, without saying good-bye. It actually really, really upset me.
It turned out, she is still here. We’re about to go out together. I’m so happy I met her. I really like her.
| — | Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast (via ihopehetakesyourfilthyheart) |
Oh nice, I don’t usually wake up to sweet, good morning texts, but this is the most romantic shit I have ever read first thing in the morning.
