Short

fiction

July 31, 2019

I don’t want to be too early. Or too late. Or right on time. Like some fucked up Goldilocks. Everything has to be perfect. As usual – I always have to be perfect. I never am. 

Still, it’s been ten years and I’ve thought about this moment so many times since that first, last meeting. I wanted him then, but was too scared to say it. Will I be braver now?

I get...

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