Chosen- A Short Story

She’s breathtaking. Her flowing hair, and how it always hides her striking features. The way the cuff of her sleeves hang making her hands barely visible as it brushes through those long locks.

Her laugh is wholesome. Not in a “good girl” sort of way, but rather as someone who’s photogenic at every angle and must be captured. An Angel. Real life princess.
But, no matter how much you want her, she’s unattainable. “Don’t say that, I’m sure she’ll give you a chance.” No. I’ll have my shot but it ends up looking, from the outside, like pity; faux, unintentional illusion. They all will- meaning every woman who looks like her, and the thousands in this category- find someone in the male equivalent category. Those are the only ones who will get chosen. And despite claims of not caring for appearances, it always seems to be the deciding factor. Same goes with the men in the equivalent category.
All the women in this category, all the men in theirs, look like every couple in the “always be chose” lineup. I don’t even need to describe them. You know who I’m talking about without having to really say much.
A lot of us are never going to get chose. We’re great people. But it’s not in the cards for us. One of those infinite loops for all time. “I’m attracted to you, but…” loop. And even when you find someone who will also never get chose, each cancel itself out. The “never get chose by someone who will also never get chose” category, somehow, is an even longer list than the “never get chose” one.

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