I went on a date a few days ago. And it was great.
We talked about our friends, our fears, our fathers;
We decided we both had we weird brains and a proclivity for micromanaging.
We said we’d do it again soon. And it was great. And he wasn’t you.
He wasn’t you.
I wonder if that means something or if these things take time.
I wonder if, no matter how much I like a guy, I’m always going to sit there thinking “He isn’t you.”