Too much

I'm a little in love with Keir.

And because of that, I'm doing what I tend to do when I'm love: I. Am. Consuming. Him.

I'm trying to find out all there is to know about him in my head. Or finding out in my head all there is to know about him. The hot and cold thing about Keir is he's sort of blocking me. All I get is ice.

I get flashes of him in a darkened 5-star restaurant pouring Angie a glass of red wine. He may be in a dark suit with a crisp, crystal shirt. And he's just listening to her. He's like that. He's quiet so you just keep talking, but then there's a moment when the silence gets awkward and you wonder what he's doing with everything you just told him. You know he's going to do something with it.

The thing is, I think I may need to move on from Keir, right now. I know enough to listen to him talk. But what's happening is I'm filling in the silence for him because apparently it's not time for his Grand Entrance.

I have a picture of Angela. She's the hardest because she's probably the opposite of my Mary Sue. She's going to be shy, awkward, controlling, steely, mushy, brave and afraid of her shadow. She's going to be Kyle.

She's going to be me. Sigh.