He calls me his girlfriend. He seeks me out in front of everyone. He holds my hand. I’m not starstruck by Canon anymore. That’s not where this surreal feeling comes from. You don’t really know a person when you’re starstruck. You’re awed by the idea of them and your idea of them is filtered through a public lens. What has me tripping is that Canon is so much more, so much better in private, when we’re alone. And he’s so guarded that most of the people at this table are still a little in awe of his talent and his reputation. Starstruck.
