Let. It. Go.
They already have.
I’m trying to.
find someone you can be quiet with —
someone who will stare at you like they’re afraid they might miss you blink, because they love the moments in which they can see your eyelids. someone who saves those snapshots to their memory banks as if they expect them to gain interest over time. who won’t look away after 7 seconds when you don’t have camera changes and special effects to keep their attention. someone who knows, or at least wants to know, how to see all of you without your passenger seat directions to bring them to your driveway. someone who will remember that, if you’re heading west at night, you turn left after the neon sign of the 24-hour diner. someone who knows that even though the sign doesn’t say it, that’s a Coney Island. and that you might be hungry. and that you can always eat lemon-rice soup. they won’t start there, but you’re allowed to demand that they search for you, in you, and know how to add up to the numbers in your address.