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Halfway to the house Stan stopped and turned to Jane. He put his hands on her shoulders and drew her toward him. "I'm glad we're going steady," he whispered. "So am I." In spite of the reassuring weight of his bracelet on her wrist, Jane suddenly felt shy. It seemed strange to be so close to Stan, to feel his crisp clean shirt against her cheek. She could not look up at him. Gently Stan lifted her face to his. "You're my girl," he whispered. -Fifteen ↗
Outside of note passing and the occasional tight-lipped kiss after school events, "going together" in seventh grade was pretty meaningless. You couldn't drive, had nowhere to go, and either weren't allowed or couldn't afford to do anything. I was kind of like being an old married couple, except you could control you bowels and stay awake past 8 p.m. ↗
What I personally knew about courting women could comfortably fit into a thimble without taking it off your finger first. ↗
Everything was gone, the garden of wind and light, the Chrysalis, the Mother and her sister-crones, the rowan tree, everything. I was in a grove–no, it was a triad of trees: apple, oak, hazel. And at my feet something that smacked of familiar miens, a stone half buried in a pitch of heather. A stone bearing my name and a date I could hardly remember. A moment passed, another and in those moments I stood numb with gluey feet at the foot of my own grave. For the first time since I’d come to the Faeran Valley, I was alone. And the silence was deafening ↗
You’re not listening to me. God, sometimes, Mouse you make this shit for a guy so difficult. You take this in over the next two weeks. I’m not goin' anywhere. Never again. You gota live with that now. This is happening, baby. I didn't find you again just so I could have my heart ripped out twice. It’s staying there and you’re being wrapped up in it. So you've two weeks to get used to it then I’m back and we’re figuring this out. In the meantime, we talk, we text and you get your head together so we’re on the same page.” “You and me. We aren't dating.” “Damn right we're not. We’re way past that. ↗
My path is the nice one. The one filled with friends who will smile when I buy their children books for their birthdays. Who will take me out, sometimes, when I call on a random night because I can't settle down. The path with peaceful holidays with my parents, and reasonable work promotions at reasonable times. The path with nice men, who take me on nice dates where I learn their last names the minute we shake hands at the bar. A path clear of a man with eyes that drift into some private sorrow. A path that will never lead to a man whose hands shake when he holds my face for a kiss that feels like falling. ↗
You are sweet to be so concerned over my love life, but I’ve decided only to date guys who have bigger swords than me. ↗
