There were things he couldn’t say and things he couldn’t say to her, and the second set was a subset of the first, though he knew that if he had the chance, he would say to her some of the things he couldn’t say, in lieu of the things he couldn’t say to her, prudence forfeited for an imperfect intimacy. But that was all part of the future, and he was part of the present, which was about the car he was sitting in, and the emboldening romantic music on the radio, and the way his hands were shaking.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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