It was fourteen years ago today, that we drove home from the flop house on Fort Ave., disheveled and ruined in our best and blackest finery, and stopped at the Perkins to try and sooth our hangovers and our bruised souls with disgusting food and even worse coffee. We both felt so sick in so many different ways, for so many different reasons. We sat there and we cried and we tried to look each other in the eye as we fought to figure out what to do with our lives.
And you told me you realized something that night. You realized you wanted me. You wanted me more than you wanted anyone else. You told me that you couldn't bear the idea of losing me. As a friend, or anything else.
And I knew right then, you had me. Completely. Always.
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