My boyfriend reads my writing, which usually doesn’t faze me, but sometimes it does. Like right now, as I write about the one who might’ve gotten away, except not, except who knows, because that person is away and so am I.
Have you ever just… listened to a song and went, “Holy shit.”
The answer is definitely “Yes,” because that’s a universal feeling about music, but yeah… when the beat kicks into the chorus (“YEAH”), I want to scream and flip my hair dramatically and dance like a woman possessed. It’s a nice feeling, but not one I can indulge on the hour and a half public transit rides between home and work.
It’s something of a running joke amongst my friends that I dodge personal questions. Continue reading