And a part of me, a teeny-tiny sliver of myself, is still waiting. To bump into someone on the street or pick up the wrong coffee order. For the right person at the right time in exactly the right place. To not have to try so damn hard at any of it. It’s the romantic in me that Aiden laughed at. And maybe it’s childish or naive or whatever, but it’s me. I’m allowed to want soft, special things.
