Yena’s insecurities were soap bubbles that I had to keep popping, like in that game you play on your phone, but new ones kept appearing and I didn’t want to lose, I didn’t want to lose her, because she laughed at my jokes and told me I was beautiful and she understood what was so good about not all but some cop shows, and at night, when she was lying with her head against my chest, which fit exactly because she was so petite, she made my heart beat slower—yes, slower, and that was exactly what I needed.
