Memory: walking into a room to a desk light shining, an empty office chair, a laptop still set to physics practice problems. Huge down blankets hiding a girl asleep under the old wooden office desk. Stacy's Mom playing -- I guess some things resist outgrowing.
Knelt, leaned over, kissed her cheek and left before I woke her too far. This is probably what love feels like.
Oh, who am I kidding. I used to come home at Christmas and follow her around department stores, smooching the top of her head in public. She used to impose hug rations on me because otherwise I'd drape on her constantly. Needy as fuck.
Maybe I should just start projecting these feelings onto the prettiest bound copy of Neruda's poems instead.
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Knelt, leaned over, kissed her cheek and left before I woke her too far. This is probably what love feels like.
Kind of sickening, actually.
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Maybe I should just start projecting these feelings onto the prettiest bound copy of Neruda's poems instead.