especially since I had to move out of Will and I’s place and I might have to make a repair on my Prius soon. I tell her about you. I tell her that I feel like I’m going insane. I tell her that everyone tells me that I seem to be doing really well and that I do seem to be, but I’m actually not, even though I lost weight and every middle-aged woman in my life thinks I look amazing. My Instagram is full of all these beautiful white girls doing tarot readings and they tell me that everything I’m hoping for is coming my way and if I see their videos it’s a sign and does she think that’s true? That if I see them, it’s a sign? I tell her about your eyes being green sometimes and brown others and she says isn’t that just hazel? because she doesn’t understand. I tell her that I put my arm around you for that photo at your work party, about the soft give of your flesh under my fingers through your shirt and how I never felt your body that way before. I tell her about when I snooped in your bathroom cabinet and saw your retainers drying in a plastic cup, that there was some sort of black grime deep in the ridges where your molars would go and I felt love for you, yes, love for you in my chest like a pigeon fucking freaking out, beating the air in utter fucking anguish, but probably if we were actually together I would come to hate the state of your retainers and that is all I know for sure about love. Gayle’s readings have never been particularly accurate about the future, she is more like a therapist who can see ghosts. When I told her you were a Taurus she said she liked you, she said you were a good guy and it would probably work out.