I’ve started speaking to someone new.
He’s funny, he’s charming,
he makes me laugh.

Well—started isn’t true.
It’s been three months.
We’re well past starting.

And we haven’t met.

I don’t know if I want to.
Like this, there’s no pressure.
I can be the version of myself
I still wish I was.

In person, I’m just… me.
And he would see that.

But still—he makes me feel things
I haven’t felt in years,
a tremor of something beginning.

Except he told me he’s looking
for friends,
and fun.

And I know,
I know,
this is going to hurt.