I say, since I'm soooo low.
He says, can we forget about that whole conversation, I don't know what's wrong with me.
I'm beginning to like him despite myself. He reluctantly and sadly pulled away at my request, and I guess now that I feel secure, I'm snuggling back in and relaxing into my time with him. I say sweet things. I get butterflies. Maybe it's not fair to not cut things off completely. But he's just so easy.
He doesn't know the first thing about dating me, though, and if he did, he'd understand why I asked to cool off. He says little things about me moving in, or playing with feelings, or what sort of boyfriend he'd be. And I make sure that I buy my own tacos. But, sushitriste, if it hurts, why are you doing it? I'm nothing special, and you are well aware.
I breathe in his smell and I exhale into his chest. I hang on his syllables. I relax. I check myself when I remember that there is a more conflicted, complicated creature underneath the comfortable, socialite exterior.
I don't want to be with him.
But I do want to be something special to him.
His little missy.