My mom told me, over the most delicious pice of cheesecake. that I had to stop kissing beautiful strangers in the club. 

It might not sound like a big deal for you, but for me, I was so happy that I had the cheesecake there for support.
I know she was right, that it was something terrible wrong with what I was doing.

The fact that I was constantly searching for the most beautiful, interesting or the most out-of-reach eyes to capture my gaze and leading them on believing our story would end in their way and not mine. 

To many nights I've spent spotting beautiful strangers, playing with that dangerous eyecontact and feeling the anticipation to hear the first  words they say to me when they finally decide to get closer and start the conversation.

At that point I'll watch every move they make, the way they shake my hand, kiss my cheek, the way their voice sound when they say my name, searching for a sparkle in their eyes, something that will enchat me further. 

He would ask me to come for a smoke and even though I never had a single puff of a cigerette I would go with him.

Watch his dazzling lips suck on the cigarette. I love that, watching them smoke.

The way they observed me, trying to figure me out while all I gave them was the most missleading smile they probably ever come across. 

They would watch me, with that wondering and hope in their eyes while inhaling the smoke and all I could do was think to myself that "one day this will kill me" I never really figured out if I was thinking about the passive smoking or the search for love and that tiny little hope that time after time would bring me back to this partiuallary spot. In the lights of spotlights in the club there was a small feeling crawling up to me that maybe, maybe this time, this guy would be different. And the lights that hit us was somehow a methaphore that our love movie started now. 
And for a night, we both pictured how our relationship would be. That small talk between us that built the ground, we were both taking notes trying to learn as much of eachother as we possible could. We would laugh at the same tv shows and went crazy when our mutal favorite song started playing. We would make up inside jokes and be masters of the high fives when we cracked a joke infront of our friends that stood there looking like questionmarks.
But how could I explain all this to my mother.

The fact that I would time after time, go back to the club, kiss a new stranger and fall in love with him for a limited amount of hours, before taking the taxi home alone knowing that that was all it would ever be. He would ask for my number, tempt me with the explanation of what we would do for our first date and he would make me smile with my entire face, even with my eyes. Him not knowing that I already made up my mind.
The moment I was alone in the taxi I admit to myself I wouldn't text him, wouldn't reply when he called and that I had enough. I did not know why but I knew that this was something I couldn't stop with eighter. I needed that one night romance, dancing with him, kissing him, highfiving him while laughing my ass off and watching him smoke and again saying to myself " One day this will kill me"
But for now, I wanted to live on that hope, that one day I'd meet someones gaze that gave me something else. Something that would stop that feeling for sneaking up on me.
When that day would come, I promised myself that I would buy my mom the same amazing cheesecake and make a vow to my mom that I am done with making out at clubs and playing these idiotic mindgames that no one understood. But I was just not ready to leave all that yet.