1. He kissed me, told me I tasted like coffee and innocence. I laughed and tried not to think about the fingerprints that are left on my bones from the last summer spent tearing myself apart as a form of self-defense.
2. When I turned the lights on, he stared straight through me, a hollow ghost in the two o’clock light. “You have eyes that could kill,” he says. I nod and look away, not admitting to him that that’s why I spend Tuesday nights staring in the bathroom mirror at the local bar.
3. We sat by the lake and drank cheap wine and pressed our lips together like our mouths were stars and the only way we could say “I love you” was by spelling it out in constellations. I tried not to think of her, but when he whispered my name again and again I could still feel hers on his tongue.
4. When he mumbled “You just don’t want to fuck me because you’re afraid of getting too close,” I laughed, stood up and buttoned my shirt. “I don’t know how to get attached,” I said, “You’re the one who should be worried.”
5. We were skin on skin, the low rumble of three am re-runs to keep our sighs company. “I think I love you,” he said. I handed him his phone with three missed texts from his girlfriend. “I think you should go.”