I think too much. I think ahead. I think behind. I think sideways. I think it all. If it exists, I’ve fucking thought of it.
Look, let me just say it: He was hot. A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well.
I loved you
harder than I hated
and that’s how
I knew I was