Crushing

by Genevieve Novak

Did he look odd in my space, all his long lines, smooth edges and carefully avoidant eyes, or was he the piece that tied the room together?

(There was nothing more tiresome than a man who used his quirky sock collection to fill the space where a personality should have been.)

And Isaac was the shore. Soft and sun-drenched and tangible, waiting for the tide to bring me in. No one chooses to stay lost at sea.