December 2009
2 tags
It happens.
If I could choose the beginning, I would guess it started with him. The boy at the fair, the one “who doesn’t know [me], but [he] think’s [I’m] cute.” It should have ended there. But we spent the night finding each other, casual run-ins, even less casual conversation. I made the next real move, one involving seven digits entered telephonically to speak to a person not...