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I’m in a car with an older guy. I snuck out of the house to meet him. I think we’re just going to talk and flirt like they do in the movies. I want him to call me beautiful; I want him to tell me more about himself. I quickly realize that we have different ideas of how this night will go.

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We’re looking for honesty. We’re looking for someone we don’t have to keep questioning or chasing. 

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I’m not out to please anyone other than me anymore.

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This means that you’re coming home to yourself.

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Love is love, right?

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The air there has a way of drying you from the inside out, beginning with the lungs, crawling up through the throat, and erupting from the mouth like an orange cloud of dust.

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I was starting to fall. I’m not ready.

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If it is meant for me, it will come. If it is not, it will pass.