# 𝐓 .ᐟ

t — 22. she / her. media lover .ᐟ

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“I wish I could see it,” I say.

“You could stop.”

Is it her or me who moves? I don’t know. I think it’s both of us. A breaking point in sync, she and I are one heart in this moment—one breath, one pulse.

She’s waiting for me as the staff trickles out into the parking lot after family dinner. She leans against the car her mom lets her borrow sometimes, watching me.

“You could’ve just given me it on paper.”

“Dahhllinnggg, it’s called romance!” she trills, and that word, it swirls around in my head as she blows me an exaggerated kiss and skips off, back toward the lake.