The kissy-face emoji wasn’t a thing. Instead, if you liked someone, you coordinated a group hangout at the movies where everyone got dropped off in minivans. You’d ignore each other for the first twenty minutes, and then find common ground over how HILARIOUS this Fat Albert movie was.
On frosty winter nights, you convened with friends to strap on ice skates at the Frog Pond, where you’d body-check small children who had come down from the North Shore for some innocent family fun.
College was a much easier transition for you than it was for a lot of people. Name games, introducing yourself over and over and over, getting lost, asking for help, having no clue what you were doing – that was your entire childhood.
I think about what would have happened if I hadn’t been jaded, hadn’t been scarred, hadn’t been in such a damaged place when you finally said, “I want you.”
The first time you kissed me was the last time something so trivial meant so much.
Feeling guilty that you aren’t starting a blog like everybody else, but also hating everybody else for starting a blog.
The drumming cadence of Charlie’s Big Wheel resonated off rough concrete as he pedaled down the sidewalk towards Big City Arcade. Small clouds of dirt and dust blossomed behind the plastic tires.
I thought we’d end up together. In my darkest and most honest hours, I still do.
Soak in your own denial about what you’re doing. Justify it rather than just shrugging it off. You had a hard week, you just don’t feel like going out, you’ve earned this.
I don’t know how the addiction began, but once I started, I couldn’t stop.