I feel like I’m eighteen again. And Connor’s that nineteen-year-old boy who lent me his college blazer. I wait for him to speak, but like back then, he just stares at me with those deep austere eyes, with shadows of the truth hidden behind pools of blue. So I say, “I don’t mind that you don’t love me the way I do you.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Thank you for at least trying.” And I leave. But he knows I’ll be back. In nearly ten years of knowing Connor, we always seem to return to each other—even when we were thousands of miles apart, on two separate planes of existence—even when it
...more
OMG
