Here I am, saying Karli looks like a frazzled hot mess, when in reality, it’s me. I’m the hot mess. Well, at least the mess part. I’ve been struggling all afternoon. I screwed up, and I feel like crap. I shouldn’t have kissed Karli again. Also, I probably shouldn’t have stayed up all night two nights in a row, getting to know her until the wee hours of the morning. But talking is safe. Talking is harmless. Talking comes with a certain deniability factor. It allows me to lie to myself and take comfort in the belief that I’m not really crossing any lines. But that kiss? Definitely not safe.
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