My fingers weaver a bit as I swipe left on the next guy again. Desperately looking for the one and only in each and every one of them.
I complain, and tell my roommate once again, how my ideal type has forearm tattoos, facial hair and glasses with black rims.
She looks at me, dead in the eyes, and says, ‘Are you serious? That’s the exact description of your ex’
And that’s when it hits me, the reality, the thruth.
I’m not looking for a man to date again, but I am still looking for you.