“Things go smoother if you don’t let people get a rise out of you,” he says. “If you give them control over how you feel, they’ll always use it.” “Finally, I see your cynical side,” I say. He smiles, but his jaw is tight, and the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not cynical. If you don’t give other people responsibility for your feelings, you ca

‘Witchy Woman’

He thrusts his head into the sink, under the running water, to rinse. When he straightens up, he grabs his towel from the rack and buries his whole face in it.

like my heart might crack through my ribs if I can’t have more of him.

I want to know myself, to test my edges and see where I stop and the rest of the world begins.

he was fine with things being just okay, too scared to go deeper in search of greatness when it meant risking change.

Close enough that I become the moth to his irresistible glow, trying to resist the pull to move closer.

protect him from anyone who doesn’t understand what kind of gift he is.

Because there, in their gorgeous, lightning bug–filled garden, with all of their longtime friends tipsy and flushed and happy in rattan patio chairs, a part of me had still ached. Could feel that I was standing outside of things, waiting for the moment I would finally become a part of it. Here, tonight, though, I’m in the center of everything. This