After changing outfits no less than six times, I finally settled for jean shorts, my tattered Chuck’s, and a freshly purchased, but vintage appearing Clash concert tee shirt. I had no way of knowing if my obsessive behavior was normal, or even if it would qualify as obsession for that matter, but I really didn’t care. I felt like my interest in Blake was genuine, without any real motive, and harmless. After convincing myself that no one would be able to schedule when their life presented a person of interest, I dismissed my thoughts and feelings to be nothing more than reaction to a good opportunity. I hated to call it fate, because the word made everything seem so cliché. Fate, to me, was reserved for romantic comedies, love songs, and a few well written books. Realistically speaking, there was no such thing as fate. The world spins, we stumble forward in life, and if we’re paying close attention, sometimes through the course of our stumbling we bump into someone who catches our interest.
