As he lays his head back down on my chest he says, “I can hear your heart.” It’s a simple, sweet thing to say. I smile a little. But then I feel my heart do something funny—it’s the thump, thump, thumping of the proverbial part of the organ. And around the time the moon and sun are coexisting in the sky, turning the room inside out with that eerie, yet calming, pale glow, I have a terrible thought: I like him. I really, really like him. Like, love-like him. Like, with my metaphorical heart. Like, if I had an x-ray, it would show an arrow lodged right into the center of that bloody, bleeding
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