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First published February 9, 2014








"And all the while, we gazed at each other. And in his eyes, I saw a future I wanted more than life itself."

"Okay, confession time. I’m not exactly emotionally…stable. I mean, I’m not insane or anything. In fact, I’m quite intelligent and at times grounded—Mom’s word, not mine. But more often than not, I’m impulsive. I’m also sensitive, self-conscious, uncertain and…well, to put it bluntly—broken."
"Delighted hunger swept over his face. Seriously. The second his gaze fell on me, it was like a hungry pig had just spotted a bucket of swill."
"I don’t care that you don’t want anyone to look after you. I want to look after you. I want to be with you, Maci. I want to see where the road takes us together, and I want to hold your fucking hand, whether it’s shaking or not. Do you understand?"






Australia was not what I was expecting. Sure, I hadn’t even made it out of the airport, but still, where were the kangaroos? The koalas? Where were the hot guys walking around in Speedos? Where were the Tim Tams? Didn’t those delicious chocolate cookies fall from the sky over here? I’m sure I’d read that somewhere? Or maybe I’d dreamt it.
… I’d been experience weird dreams about Australia.
In one, I was dating a kangaroo that sounded like Chris Hemsworth. I remember waking in the morning stroking my pillow with the words “You had me at g’day,” whispering through my head.
I had fucking Parkinson’s disease. It was going to destroy everything I knew in my life and there was nothing I could fucking do about it.
Who wants to get romantic with someone who’s going to be a shaky mess in a few years?
There was no future for us. There was no future for me. I didn’t have a normal life sprawling ahead of me, I had a crappy one. One he didn’t deserve to be burdened with.
I don’t care that you don’t want anyone to look after you. I want to look after you. I want to be with you, Maci. I want to see where the road takes us together, and I want to hold your fucking hand, whether it’s shaking or not. Do you understand?
The confession sent a funny little blip through me. Not jealousy, just…funny. Man, my descriptive skills are woeful, aren’t they? Good thing I never planned on being a journalist.
“We’d kick your arse if we did. Go to war, that is … We’d only have to let loose our wildlife and you’re all screwed.”
