So you make lists in your head about how to be a better person – like maybe stop drunk-texting at twenty-one, or go to the gym at least once in a while. And things like NYE roll around and it feels as though the world is giving you an opportunity to just start over – to recreate yourself for the first of January. So you post-pone all your lists for a later date that seems more plausible, and all the sudden, out of nowhere, not much changes.
I wasn’t afraid of him until we first kissed. Then he started to scare me. He scared the shit out of me.
It’s strange when you kiss somebody and suddenly they’re not the same person they were before you kissed.
I guess that’s the risk you take if you sleep with a writer – you end up in their stories.