Sometimes, it’s easier to just think about the good times.
But you’ll say something that cuts me back down to size.
Is this not what you wanted?
Is this not what you wanted?
It seems like you would be the type to back out with all these mixed emotions.
When I touch her, my fingers don’t question what she is. My body knows who she is. The strange thing about strangers is that they are unknown and known. There is a pattern to her, a shape I understand, a private geometry that numbers mine. She is a maze where I got lost years ago, and now find the way out. She is the missing map. She is the place that I am. She is a stranger. She is the strange that I am beginning to love.
