We “dated” for a month, seven years ago.
And yet my stomach still turns every time she calls.
It’s nice, I think, to know a person exists who can do that to you.
It gives you hope that you may one day meet another.
We “dated” for a month, seven years ago.
And yet my stomach still turns every time she calls.
It’s nice, I think, to know a person exists who can do that to you.
It gives you hope that you may one day meet another.
It makes me sick that someone can do that to us. It leaves me dreading the prospect that we aren’t autonomous beings.