awkward - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I guess it's okay to feel awkward, I'd rather feel that way and be real than any other. The authentic me loves deeply, laughs often and cries at the sorrow of others. I get emotionally attached and show my soul as if it were a movie... but hey, that's me, wearing "awkward" as if it were my own exclusive label.
A heavy silence settled over them, thicker then the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Unsettled eyes glanced unceremoniously around and tried to avoid catching other glances that passed by. Some shifted uncomfortably in their seat and others grasped their sweaty, nervous hands under the tables, and even others shuffled their feet against the cobbles of the bar floor, awkwardly tracing the outlines of each brick while judging whispers swirled in the air around the small space where the only woman had just beaten every man ever known to chug down the most liquor in a single sitting.
There was a silence. The drinkers in the cafe all continued to talk vehemently, casting uneasy glances.
He's so much younger than I had expected. He has that grown-up choir boy look except the tattoos that swirl above the neckline of his light shirt. He's got the same floppy blonde hair as Mike but his eyes aren't brown, possibly green, but I don't want to stare long enough to find out. "Lucy?"
My mouth is almost too dry to speak. I nod like an idiot and then croak out "Yeah, Joel?"
"Get in, we've got a lot of road to cover."
Now that I'm next to him it's far easier to observe him discreetly, as he drives it's natural for me to look his way while we talk and for him to keep his eyes on the traffic. He's tall, north of six foot I'd say and he must play some kind of sport or have a manual job. I toy with the idea of asking more but stop myself short. I'm in love with Mike and this is just some jock giving me a ride for gas money. When the small talk peters out I train my eyes to the scenery ignoring his cologne. Why does he have to smell that way? I don't need more confusion...
Carl had his legs crossed and was tapping his Ray-Bans on the coffee shop table, his hair was even neater than usual and his suit was new. Claire pulled out a chair and he looked up from his phone, smiling in that tense way he did when he was about to vent. She put her latte down gently and smiled just the same way she did for her patients at the hospital. They never knew the difference and neither did he.
"Did you hear about Rodger?" he began, his attempt to keep things light already waning.
"Oh, no. What about him?" Claire took another sip, trying not to loose all of her lipstick on the rim.
"He got his PhD last week, he called me, all excited. Those three letters just mean you wasted three years of your life and are massively in debt." Then despite the rising tension in his voice he snickered. "What a looser, eh?"
Claire pursed her lips. She'd known Rodger a good deal longer than Carl and he'd always been a sweetheart. Not her type, but as far as friends went, he was a keeper.
I felt painfully out of place, like a pepperoni that had mistakenly made its way onto a vegetarian pizza.