A date over an evening coffee created conversation, much of which I was surprised to learn and a mosaic maze in my thoughts, tripping over what could possibly be. I was shaken between luck and a dream, which I didn’t know. Her forklike tongue decapitated my depression well before I knew what for or why anything else mattered besides the taste of her cherry-red lipgloss. I mean, what the fuck? The odds she’d bump into me two times in one week; tell me you don’t see we’re meant to be.

(© 2022 AC)

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