“I still like you. I don’t want you gone.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I don’t want to see you hurt. I want to see you feeling great…”
“Life just constantly feels like shit.”


3. 1/21/16

“I’m weirdly attracted to Noah” I’d scrawled in my inconsistent journal a few nights before.

And now, somehow, we’re together.

I have this attraction to him that's almost magnetic.

Seeing him smile and hearing him laugh, I want to fill my life with that joy.

I know there is a darker side to him, we all have one, and that's okay.

We sit next to each other in Drivers Ed, second row, left side, facing west, facing the next leap towards freedom.

Paper feels like fresh leaves under my fingers, I draw on a pad of blue post-its.

It’s the same geometric design I've been drawing for months.

I return my hands to my lap as Dorie starts a DVD about traffic lights.

It’s boring. My brain is concentrated on how close Noah is to me.

At this time I didn’t realize how much he would mean to me, my nerves were at advantage for this reason.

Though he wasn’t touching me, I could feel that his hand was close.

I held my breath in hope.

Should I just do it? What if he doesn't want to hold my hand and this is all just a coincidence?

And then like an angel, he takes my hand.

I have been purged of my fears, he has died for my sins.

His touch is softer than that of any other.

Not to say I’ve held a lot of hands, but no feeling will replace this first touch.

I felt whole, protected, wealthy.

He rubbed the soft pad of his thumb up and down my hand. It feels smooth like silk or like the little whisps of baby hair that grow next to some girls’ ears.

I see his profile from the corner of my eye.

The bridge of his nose juts out as if it had been broken, although it had just always been that way.

He looks back at me ever so cautiously.

His face spattered with moles and childhood scars, I feel a deep need for his compassion and to give him mine.

And so I do.

And so I will.

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