This thing.

It was somewhere around 3:30 am and it was wet outside. We were parked on the side of the street in front of my house because it felt less bad that way. She was in the driver’s seat and my head was in her lap. She continuously ran her fingers through my hair and it made me smile.

“I thought you didn’t like fingernails.” 

-I thought you didn’t like girls. 

She sighed.

“I don’t know what I like anymore.”

-From what I saw tonight… boys with tattoos and long hair who sing in bands that yell a lot… 

She laughed. 

“I’m tired of it though. I love it and I’m tired of it at the same time. I don’t want to do it anymore. They are all the same.”

-Then there is me. 

She put her finger on my forehead.

“… And then there is this thing.”