A Little Preview
We sat in your car, waiting for the storm to subside, listening to some music you wanted to play for me which (forgive me) I only pretended to like. I leaned over to smooth the wayward tuft of hair down — a sisterly gesture — and you mistook the move for intimacy. You kissed me then, and I let you. Because with my eyes closed, you could have been anyone. At that moment, hidden away from the world by fogged up windows, you became the last boy who’d left me . . . You tasted the same. And later, in the dark of my room, your hands felt the same too. Calloused palms against my hips. The same rhythm. The same sighs.
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