Lake Lewisia #867

He had never understood love before, or romance, or all the other ticky boxes he had nonetheless tried to check off: giving little gifts, whispered words of affection, reaching out to brush your hand against another's in hopes of feeling that electric thrill. Now, he found himself sitting on the front steps and recounting his days in a conversation that wasn't one-sided at all, for all he couldn't hear any reply, and taking slow walks in the hope that some soft and slimy appendage would brush his passing ankle from inside the storm drain. The songs all made sense, and even the longing of separation was another electric thrill to savor.

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LL#867