"I hate starting a notebook on the first page.
It’s kind of intimidating, you know.
Thinking about all the blank lines ahead of you and the thickness
left to be filled. I always turn the page over to relieve the anxiety,
tricking myself in a way,” he says.
I think about this for a while. Almost too long.
He looks for some kind of sign to make sure I’m alright. I am.
I glance back at him.
His rough hands, uneven facial hair and kind eyes.
There’s so much I want to say but
I divert my eyes and take a large swing of beer.
I hate beer.
I think about all the boys I’ve been with.
All the boys I thought I loved.