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I got to thinking that poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just didn’t get—and never would get.
“I want you. Am I supposed to walk away because you're a man? Maybe. They'll say yes for sure. But I'm sick of all the questions running around in my head." Tate stopped and licked his lips. "I want the man who sat down across from me and changed the way I look at the world. And if that's wrong, then I'm confused because when I'm near you, it feels so damn right.”
― Try
― Try
“And you”—I prod his arm—“need to stop rereading that YA book where everyone dies at the end.”
― Here's to Us
― Here's to Us
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