“Gabe makes me wish for lazy Sunday mornings in bed with coffee and the smell of cinnamon in the kitchen. Sweet. Tobias is Saturday night. Strobe lights and moaning and…that tipsy feeling, like if you have one more drink, you’ll be sorry.” “And me?” “You are…” I swallow. Being open and honest to someone about how I feel on the inside is harder than I remember. I’ve been out of practice so long. “You’re real life. The place where I’m in my pattern and feel safe. You’re not a detour, you’re a path forward.”
