It's not really clear what's going on with her. She won't look at you no matter what you do. You wave your arms, scream as loud as you can, but she stares straight ahead. It's okay though, she's probably just weird. There's other fish in the proverbial sea. Just got to keep your head up.
Alright, this is forming into a pattern and you feel very uncomfortable with that. Really hard not to take it personally after you've gone through it a second time, you know? You've been watching what you eat lately, spending a lot of time outdoors, and frankly you're having a great hair day. Some girls have a specific type I guess.
You are starting to get the feeling that all of these girls are in cahoots. Are you in cahoots? Cahoots! You declare it and therefore they must recognize it. Cahoots! You feel really insecure about your new haircut. Friggin' cahoots, you say! This isn't a funny prank.
Holy fucking shit, ow! This hurts and you feel bad! You feel really bad! Physically and emotionally! Why would you do this happen?! Physically it hurts bad! Also your emotions! Was it because you complimented her hair? You guess it must be a point of insecurity for her, but it definitely does not merit lashing out to this extent.
You don't even understand this one. You truly are confused and bewildered at this moment. You don't see how this is applicable at all to her not feeling requited love. She could have just told you that she didn't want to get coffee. Was it you or the coffee? Would she have rather gone on a hike, or to dinner, or to a gallery opening? The intention behind this park ranger move was very unclear! She should be more clear with her intentions, also the park ranger's uniform is stupid and you hate him.
The room's spinning really fast. Everything's getting woozy, you think you're going to-
Well now this is just great, isn't it. It seems like every girl you're infatuated with hates you, go figure. Can't seem to catch a friggin' break in this world. Now you're supposed to sit here like some sort of chump? Don't even get a toilet. Yeah, you get it. You're supposed to go in the straw. She doesn't have to tell you. The straw's soakability is subpar, by the way. She should really feel bad about that. Not very hospitable.
Oh no. No, no, no. Those poor girls. Oh those, poor terrified girls. You feel like such a fool. You look down and see you're covered in brown matted fur, you have terrifyingly sharp claws, and whenever you try to sing one of the sonnets you wrote the only thing that comes out is a ferocious howl. You suppose you'll never find true love like you always thought you would.