Why is it that a text from a boy—no—man seven years my senior the only one to ever send me heart into a stupid flutter causing time to briefly come to a standstill. Everything stops. My heart stops for a split second, before gradually resuming.
I met him drunk and at the club.
I feel more for this stranger I’ve come to add on Facebook than any other boy that has entered my life. I was asked what the oldest age I could realistically go for is. I was suggested an age seven years above mine. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea. That is not to say that I rejected it—I felt like I needed to truly be in the situation to honestly answer and yet here I am, still unable to come to terms with this. I might be younger than one or two of his sisters.
We’ll miss each other then.
Pretty much every boy that I have met outside of my institution is this age which fucking horrifies me. Is this some sort of a sign?
I have, within reach, the hearts of other boys but the problem is that I simply do not want it. It’s too easy. It’s not right. But somehow, some way, I prefer this.
This sort of thing has never before phased me, so here I am, documenting it. I know I am an anhedonic. A recovering one? Am I softening up? No, it can’t be. But if it is, this is proof.
