a night.
I walked home from the train station feeling like I was going to vomit.
Moments earlier I walked away from someone who took off in a cab while I angrily bought cigarettes - paying with the writing on my hand that stated I loved somebody.
Whatever that meant.
The phone call last night that told me that I didn’t reciprocate the feelings that were professed over and over again, that I was overreacting, that you know, I just like you so much, Heidi.
When I got the flowers at work today I felt mixed up, a slow smile while my cheeks burned with uncertainty. What the hell is this? I found myself thinking, “Fucking flowers.”
