I Should Talk To Him I Know

I Had Gotten So Used To Being Alone, But Never Entirely Used To It. Never Used To It Enough To Stop Wanting The Alternative.

It Is So Unfair That He Lives In Ohio, Because That Should Be Close Enough, But Since Neither Of Us Drives And Neither Of Us Would Ever In A Million Years Say, 'hey, Mom, Do You Want To Drive Me Across Indiana To See A Boy?,' We're Kind Of Stuck.

So What Do You Have To Confess Now?" I Don't Know Why I'm Saying Any Of This, Except That Is The Truth. "i'm Confessing That I Don't Know If I'm Ready For This." "what Is 'this'?" "being Open. Being Hurt. Liking. Not Being Liked. Seeing The Flicker On. Seeing The Flicker Off. Leaping. Falling. Crashing.

When Distractions Are Manifold, It's Best To Remember What You Are Supposed To Be Doing.

After Tiny Has Tried Ballerina Pose, Swing-batter-batter Pose, Pump-up-the-jam Pose, And Top-of-the-mountain-sound-of-music Pose In The Reflection Of The Bean, He Walks Us To A Bench Overlooking Lake Shore Drive.