Not to start a conversation, but tonight was good, tonight was progress.

Agreed. Hard, I know, but progress seems to be.

Very, didn't want you to leave. I'm just being ridiculous. Female attachment is all. Sometimes I feel like nothing short of your mistress.

Don't it's fine. Maybe we can get somewhere this time.

No, it's a role I'm, oddly, finding some comfort in. But you're right. Just not always sure I want to move. Does this sort of honesty still fall under the 'good bold' category? I think I'm getting a bit dull.

Ha, good bold indeed, my only concern is one of us getting hurt.

Ha, darling, if there were a risk of hurt, that ship has sailed. Exclusivity and titles aside, the relationship part already happened. What else could hurt? It's the worst, cleanest, breakup ever. The each of us moving on part is the only pain left. Am I wrong?

No, no you're spot on.

Sometimes I find myself not believing in love. Like, what if it really is some made up thing perpetuated by adults too stubborn to let go of the fairy-tale they grew up with? It very well could be a lie; Santa Clause was. The Easter bunny was. Tooth Fairy, ends of rainbows, unicorns, dinosaurs. Love could be like that, something we grow out of once we finally grow up and grasp that something so supposedly profound, so unique and otherworldly and yet so very common can't possibly be more than a nice story.

I think all of that sometimes.

Then I look at you.

(And love and life are redeemed?)

Yes.
(Yes. Of course)
Yes. I want to be common. I want to share that drink that all the world thirsts for. And it's you.
(Me?)
It's you. You break me.
(Torture?)
No, no, it's good. It's a good way. Diminished doubt and childish hopes even into adulthood. It's fantastic. You. Are. Fantastic.

Oh stones

I just think I might be caught up in a very beautiful boy.