It's strange how quickly things can change. A few minutes ago, I didn't care about the dirty laundry on my bedroom floor. Now I was picking it up and putting all of it in a basket so I could go downstairs to the laundry room and wash it. Piece by piece went into the basket, it was exhausting to move around this much. I usually didn't do it. At least I found all those single socks scattered all over my room, in the strangest places. Hey, maybe I could write a new poem about that - "Single Socks". It's gonna be about a bunch of sentient socks and-

Hey. Focus. Now's not the time to daydream. You need to prepare for Thomas.

...

A sigh left my lips. Oh, how I missed him. My head was full with thoughts of him ever since he left...I wondered if he was thinking of me too. I tried ignoring my mind for a while, but it was no use. At some point, I just...gave up and let it consume me. Do I regret it? Not really. If I can't get him out of my head, surely that means something, right? It has to mean something. Or else...!

...I pressed the fabric of the shirt I was wearing against my nose again. That familiar smell...I couldn't get enough of it.

Feeling empowered by the comfortable smell of my favorite shirt, I quickly gathered the rest of the laundry, threw it in the basket, picked it up and walked to the door. I locked it behind me as I left, taking fast steps down the stairs. The elevator in my apartment complex had a tendency to make strange noises. Besides, I needed to move around a little bit. As I arrived at the laundry room, I noticed that two of the washing machines were already running. Without a second thought, I opened the door of a free washing machine and shoved my laundry inside. I made sure it was all stuffed inside, before I shut the door, added the washing powder and turned it on. It felt like I was doing it all in the blink of an eye. I barely remembered being in my apartment just five minutes ago. I sat down on the floor, empty basket standing next to me, my back leaning against one of the empty washing machines. I pulled my legs close to my body and wrapped my arms around them. I often found myself sitting in this position in the past six months. Mostly to feel some sort of warmth, but this time I went into that position simply for being comfortable. I had to do a lot of thinking. After all, I had to plan what I needed to do over the course of next week. Today was Sunday. Thomas would arrive in exactly one week. Cleaning my apartment would be a good first step, but what if we weren't meeting there? I'd invite him to Clara's, if that place didn't feel far too personal. Then again, it would be neutral enough for a nice conversation. I couldn't stop the flow of thoughts running through my head. Usually I worked on some more poems to get my thoughts out of my head, just to prevent it from being overfilled and paralysing me. Too many thoughts were overwhelming. However, I didn't have any paper on me right now and my thoughts were piling up. So I pulled out my phone and opened my Notes app. It wasn't the best solution - writing on paper simply felt better to me - but I wanted to sit here for a little longer before doing anything else.

And so, I made a new note and started typing.

A snowy field, far far away

I was wandering, calling out your name

But you wouldn't answer

You left me in the dust

I continued to fight for absolutely no one

Until one day, I found a light amidst the dirt

It was calling out to me, offering a hand

I reached for it, I tried to find it

But it was hiding from me, almost running away

Happiness is so hard to reach

And if I can't be happy with you

I'd rather be happy with no one

I read through it. Once. Twice. Thrice. Something about it felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Besides, these were simply poems to get my thoughts out. There was no need for them to be good, all they had to do was help me.

It was then that I noticed a noise from the other side of the washing machines. Instead of checking what it was, I continued to sit there and listen.

"Looks like I'm not the only one looking for a quiet spot to think."

The voice of a man. I guessed him to be around my age. Then again, voices can deceive you. This man could be a lot older for all I know. What bothered me the most however was that I didn't notice him at all when I entered. Was I in such a rush to get down here? No, I was sure I didn't see anyone else when I came here. Has he just been sitting here all this time?

"Who are you?"

I turned my head back to try and get a glimpse at the person. All I saw were the buttons on the machines.

"Hm...let's say I'm the Washing Machine Guy. What should I call you?"

Codenames? The idea seemed strange to me and at first, I wanted to lash out at him about it. But then I started thinking.

"Call me...Poet Girl. You can't get more on the nose than that."

"Poet Girl, hm? How good would you say your poems are?"

God, that was a tough question. Why would he ask something like that? I haven't worked on my poetry collection in a while.

"I'm...not sure, actually. I'd say I'm okay, but there's a lot of room for improvement."

"But you enjoy it, right? So it's worth it in the end."

"Ha, if you say so..."

What's his deal? Asking me about my codename? He's the one who named himself after the room we're currently in! What a weirdo. Though, I knew that I would be thinking about this conversation later. It was in my nature, I suppose. Something about this weird guy was...interesting, in a way. But my brain always found ways to give simple conversations more meaning.

And suddenly, I had another poem idea. This one would be dedicated to this strange encouter, and I'd call it "Washing Machine Heart". A perfect fit for my poetry collection. I quickly typed another note into my phone so I wouldn't forget it, not noticing that the guy behind the machines placed something on top of them. Once I was done and saved the note, I finally turned my head in the direction of the noise he was making. His basket stood on top of the machines, it was blue and made of plastic. I grabbed one of the handles and pulled it down into my lap. There was a small note inside with a phone number on it. Is that guy...trying to hit on me or something? We literally just met, and not even completely. I had no idea what that man looked like, let alone did I know his name. So why-

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"If you ever need to talk to someone, I'm usually always available. Sorry if that's weird or too forward. I barely find writers like myself these days, haha. I guess the craft is getting less popular, hm?"

Another writer? That would explain why this encounter felt so special to me. Maybe this was meant to be? Who really knows, I surely don't. But now I have the chance to find out. I took the note from the basket and held it in my hands for a moment, reading the number over and over again. I wanted to memorise it in case I lost the note. It's a small piece of paper, and my apartment only seems to be growing in size over time. Wait a minute, I have my phone on me right now. I took it out and started typing in the number. When it came to the name of the person, I typed in 'Washing Machine Guy'.

And...saved! I now had this guy's number. And I didn't even have to try getting it by using my lacking social skills. I placed the blue basket next to me and picked up mine as I stood up, putting my phone in the pocket of my sweatpants. Now, I could just walk behind the washing pachines and see who was sitting there. But...I didn't want to ruin the magic behind this encounter. I knew it was silly to think that, I was an adult now after all - but I simply couldn't help my mind from being overly creative. Before I left, I wanted to say something cool, something memorable...my heart belonged to Thomas, but that didn't stop me from making a good memory for a stranger...and I suppose for myself as well.

"So...I'll come back here once my laundry's done."

"Looking forward to it, Poet Girl."

Goddamnit, now he was the one who said something memorable! I walked out, knowing that was the end of our exchange. Every author knows when an exchange is supposed to end, and this was it. The perfect end to a small exchange. This guy really knows his stuff if he's actually a writer too. All of these thoughts came to my mind as I walked back up to my apartment. This was probably the most I have moved around in a long, long time. Call it sports if you will.

I put the basket back into my bathroom as I arrived in my apartment. After that, I went back to my bedroom and let myself fall onto my bed. My eyes were staring right at the poster on my ceiling again, just like they did this morning. It was funny how things worked like that. It felt like I never left the apartment in the first place. My eyes gazed over to the clock on the wall. It was already 2pm? How long did I spend down there? Was I really that caught up in my own thoughts again? God, sometimes I hated how much my mind overworked and overloaded itself. I pressed the fabric of my shirt against my nose again. His smell...it always brought me comfort. It even somehow helped the mood swing I was currently having. I felt a lot sadder than before, and though that could be because of the lost time, it was mainly about how unproductive I felt. I could've used that hour to write, but no, I didn't. Well, I did write something, but that was trash and not very good, so I didn't count it. Still, I had time to kill and I wanted to use it productively. Before doing that however, I dragged myself off the bed and slowly walked to the kitchen, where I put my hand in a box of Cheerios and ate them dry. I had several boxes of them in my kitchen, simply because they were the food I ate whenever I had a bad mood swing. Just like now, where I felt absolutely horrible about myself for wasting so much time in the laundry room.

You know...Thomas would have told me what to do. He would have comforted me in these times. But he had to leave. And I couldn't accept that.

...

After stuffing my face with even more Cheerios, I decided to go out and do something else. I still had to run a few errands before meeting with Pauline at Clara's, but knowing me, I'd only have the energy to do one of them today. I went back to my bedroom and started getting changed. I put Thomas' shirt back to it's special spot. I had an extra spot in my closet reserved for this one shirt. It was my favorite, after all. For going out today, I decided to wear a dark grey turtleneck with a light red skirt and a black pantyhose. I liked this outfit, even if I missed his comforting smell. Thanks to the small lavender pillows in my closet however, my clothes had the faint smell of lavender to them. It was nice to have at least some sort of smell on me. I couldn't stand clothes that smelled like nothing. I'm weird, aren't I? Well, I probably was. I also tied my long blonde hair into a ponytail. I loved how nice and wavy my hair was, especially when I tied it up.

Well, let's see here...I was almost out of sleeping pills, so I should probably go to the pharmacy and get some more if I wanted to have some good sleep anytime soon. My sleep problems have been getting worse recently, so I really appreciated the medicine. Other than that, there was this book I ordered that I still had to pick up from my favorite book store. I was really excited to get it, it was the newest release from Iris Bloom, my favorite author of all time. I loved her works and her writing style, and simply those charming characters. Other than that, I was thinking about cooking something today. It always managed to relax me somehow, and after that mood swing I was still sort-of in, I think I needed that. I could go to the store, buy some vegetables and make myself a good healthy meal.

So...the pharmacy, the book store, or grocery shopping.

What will it be?