I love Scott.
We are sitting at the table in his kitchen, eating hotdogs when
I notice a little blob of ketchup at the corner of his mouth. It
bobs up and down as he chews. So I reach over with a
napkin and dab it, and he turns and smiles and looks
into my eyes for a second longer than he needs to.
And it hits me.
It crashes into me.
I love him.
I love him.
I can’t finish my lunch.
I tell him I’m full.
I am full.