The funny part is, I want to believe my own words. Since I left Fiasco, each decision I’ve made has had a purpose—a well thought-out plan and path to either complete a job or preserve a sliver of calculated enjoyment in my life. But a handful of days back here and plans suddenly feel incomplete and riddled with detours. One very specific one stands a few feet away, with glasses and a devious smile that makes my insides melt and renders me stereotypically stupid. A quiet, buried part of me kicks alive when I’m around him. And the worst part is, I like that feeling.
