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world, he would be dead.
I’m crying now, crying because
I’m high. Crying because he
cares, or at least pretends to.
Crying because it fucking
feels good to cry. Trey takes
me solidly into his arms, tells
me, No shame in crying. No
shame in hating. Go ahead, hate
him. He deserves that and more.
Then he kisses me again.
Tender, this time. Soft.
Unexpectedly compassionate.
I kiss him back. Tearful. Needy.
Filled with questions. Hungry.
Finally, he pulls away. I’ll take
you back to your car now. And
I’ll wait for our second date.
As long as it’s tomorrow.
Not a Wink
Of sleep tonight.
I know that without
trying. Even if I wasn’t
totally wired out of my tree,
thinking about Trey would
keep my mental wheels
turning. Churning.
I managed to
choke down dinner,
a major accomplishment,
