"I play music" he said to me, in a crowded bar somewhere down on Rivington, but it was no surprise. His messy jet black hair, tattered jeans, and tattooed skin just screamed musician. I had a knack for attracting these kinds of men, and it almost never turns out the way I planned it in my head. I sat there in awe of his facial structure, his furrowed brows made him look perpetually angry, but I was into that sort of thing. Gazing into his hazel eyes, I envisioned what it would be like to be with him. What it would feel like to fall in love, and break up, what the song written about me would sound like. I bet it would be acoustic. Taking a sip of my vodka and club, I shifted back to reality, the reality that this first date wouldn't turn into a second, that I wouldn't have that song written about me. We continued our conversation over our third drink of the evening. The undeniable chemistry had my stomach twisting in knots; feeling this much for somebody, knowing it would all be temporary.