2012

Like the time you told me I looked pretty in my face mask. I don’t look good in a face mask who looks good in a face mask. I like that blinded feeling though. Idealizing our flaws painting them endearing. Some cheesy shit I normally find taxing to tolerate unless I’m in it. It’s all about me. I don’t like saying it out loud but I know you know. Cool that we can know without moving our lips. Like that part in Frances Ha when she mentions the secret world, another dimension. No one else knows about it except for the people in it. Undateable. I feel like maybe I’ve met her before. Fictional her not Greta her. Like when I dropped my phone and shards of the screen got stuck under my skin and I called you from my office. I think? I don’t remember but you weren’t even annoyed at me for destroying my phone twice that month or for being late or for any of the other stuff. Cool when that exists. You didn’t mind my unfinished living space or my underbite or my long windedness after two glasses of wine. I didn’t mind your patchy beard or subtle mood swings or the zits in between your shoulder blades. Or rather I didn’t not like them. Something corny like that. I think that’s how you know you know? I know you know.