Romance In A Column

chapter five,

Eryn Sallow has come to the conclusion there's a conceptual heft to relationships, in the given case romantic ones, that people willingly overlook.

A single life, on itself, is a blindfolded and aimless walk through a mined path. A person is strapped with inner struggles, burdened with their fair share of emotional baggage and recurrently mounted over with outer issues. That's not to say there aren't prairies in the way, with wild grass alike colorful flowers bathed in dew under one's feet, but life, future, and reality firmly abide to 'regression to the mean.'

Watered down, the statistical phenomenon reminds us that neither sadness or happiness—much to ones both utter dismay and comfort—can be everlasting. Eventually, the chips piling up in the other plate of the scale will even out the balance or tip it to its counterpart.

A single life, on itself, is an unpredictable mirage of odds with a single promise—nothing will prevail.

With that thought in mind, now add another life to the equation. Another existence as complex as one's very own, filled with vivid scenery and dull colors creating shadows alike depth to the masterpiece in progress.

To a conceptual level, a romantic relationship is tethering two lives. Weaving a red thread and intertwining complex tapestries. However, as beautiful as it might be, life still is a blindfolded, aimless walk through a mined path, and a relationship is only strings interlacing two sets of feet—strings that, while maneuvering blind, promise a fall.

And while Eryn's casual apparel and minimal makeup might be appropriate for a first date at a wing's restaurant, these thoughts are not.

With the straw held by her pursed lips, she continues to contentedly slurp on her second—going on third—chocolate milkshake since arriving. Simultaneously, Eryn scrolls absentmindedly through social media. Between scandalous recounts of celebrities lives via stories and staged happiness masked by filters of the few high school alike college acquaintances Eryn follows, she's spent the half an hour delay her date is currently experiencing somewhat entertained.

In retrospective, Eryn should've left once a shallow pool the straw was unable to reach was the only remains of her first drink. And she would've, if he hadn't called to promise he'd make it—explaining his boss had held him back to go over the company's schedule for the upcoming week, which was perhaps the best card he could've played since Eryn is all too familiar with those types of situations.

And partly because Flynn Bohrer is her favorite amongst her, albeit small, line-up.

Truth be told, the five guys had undergone a meticulous selection process. Hand-picked by her sister—because, and this is a direct quote, 'Eryn you're too drunk to make any rational decisions right now.' Ironic since, in Melina's jurisdiction, she wasn't too drunk to book five dates—then thoroughly stalked by her before Eryn was allowed to text them. From instagram posts, to facebook walls, the eldest Sallow checked the prospects' current jobs, reviews on said jobs, career aspirations, favorite music and quite likely had noted down their social security number.

The text messages Eryn exchanged with Flynn and the others were basic at best, drunk spelling alike flirty responses were revised by her sister along with the entire conversation leading up to agreeing on a place and time to their date.

Shutting her phone off, Eryn glances around the local. The hole in the wall, wing shop is one she's been meaning to visit ever since Astrid's four star review. Which, granted isn't stellar, but it's quite an achievement considering how hard of a critic the journalist can be.

In the overflowing mass of customers it would be hard to spot a newcomer, even from her strategically chosen booth. People bring alive the rustic place with animate chatter which overlaps the statistics and commentaries emitted by the sport channels playing on several of the televisions located all throughout the local.