Stranger on a Plane

I’m f*cked.

Completely f*cked.


Because I sat next to a hot stranger on a plane,

a hot, surfing, body-like-the-hottest-Korean-God I’ve ever met kind of stranger.

I know what you’re thinking…this is a great thing, right?

Yeah, it’s the most unoriginal, universal dream on the planet to meet a good-looking stranger on a plane. But it’s still a dream.

We talked and laughed and he added me on Instagram(millennials, man, we’re the worst).

He told me about the places he traveled, how he’s going to Africa in a few weeks, how he spent time in Indonesia and Europe and Australia and lives in San Diego. Life like a dream. The kind of dream the 5-months-ago-younger me would have oozed over. The kind of dream I would have latched onto. The kind of dream that would make me think I’d met my mile-high soulmate.

I mean, it was cool, you know? It was better than spending 2 hours deleting documents off my computer.

But, when he hugged me goodbye, I didn’t feel anything.

Because I realized that you are my stranger on a plane.

You are the one I want to sit next to.

I want to be the 17A to your 17B.

And that is why I am utterly and foolishly f*cked.








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