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t — 22. she / her. media lover .ᐟ
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“But when you let go, you can take all that love you had, all the energy, and funnel it into yourself instead. Because there is so much for you to love about yourself, Coley.”
“I wish I could see it,” I say.
“You will,” he says. “I’m going to make sure of it. I promise.”
“I’m so tired of living like this. Everything hurts when all I want to do is be with you. And all I do is run.”
“You could stop.”
“You could stop.” I say again. “You could be with me.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” she says, hushed in the silence we’ve created in this little bubble of us.
Is it her or me who moves? I don’t know. I think it’s both of us. A breaking point in sync, she and I are one heart in this moment—one breath, one pulse.
Our lips brush. Just brush. Barely there, retreat, and then back again. My lips skim over hers, a stone skipping across a still pond, and then she makes this noise, it hooks deep in my stomach, just seconds before her tongue’s against mine, and then—
“Let’s go to our spot on the tracks.”
She’s waiting for me as the staff trickles out into the parking lot after family dinner. She leans against the car her mom lets her borrow sometimes, watching me.
“You could’ve just given me it on paper.”
“Dahhllinnggg, it’s called romance!” she trills, and that word, it swirls around in my head as she blows me an exaggerated kiss and skips off, back toward the lake.
“You kissed me. You spent all your time with me, you basically said you loved me.”
“You’re being silly, Coley. I’m like this with all my friends. Some girls are touchy-feely. It doesn’t mean anything. Especially not what you’re thinking.”