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she had long since realized that what she was doing was pathetic,

and a little stalkerish.

okay... a lot stalkerish.

but it's not like she had anything else to do...

okay that too is a lie, she actually has a growing pile of coursework to finish.

but this was her escape,

he was her escape.

she didn't care that she'd regret the alcoholic drink she'd ordered just to blend in with the other patrons.

she didn't care that she had to endure the embarrassment of sitting alone every Friday night.

she also didn't care that the bartender was probably beginning to realize exactly what she was doing here.

no, none of that mattered.

because when he walks on stage in his flannel shirt and tight black jeans, sporting black boots and his acoustic guitar,

she experiences the best form of anxiety.

and in her mediocre existence, just once, she feels apart of something. and she didn't care about the pitying glances from people who probably thought she was stood up by some imaginary date.

no, because for just a few seconds while he tunes his guitar and leans in to say goodnight to the patrons and brushes his long brown hair from his face...

her souls coils so tight with anticipation.

when he opens his lips and his raspy voice croons the sad but soulful lyrics he created.

she would come alive for a few minutes.

this was her high, this was her fix.

and she wasn't ready to give up that feeling just yet.

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dedicated to @Sugar_spice001 because she has quickly become my #1 supporter and she deserves the world
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