I tell you about the new guy I’m seeing, because you ask. You tell me your girlfriend is doing well, because I ask. I remember the night we were drunk and I finally got you to admit that I was your best friend. I think of how when we say goodbye, we wait to say I love you until we’re screaming it from opposite sides of the parking lot. Remember when we got burgers at four in the morning, and you ate all the fries? I laughed so hard I fell out of my seat and then you pushed me out of the car. I just sat there on the pavement, laughing, I couldn’t get up. We had tears streaming down our faces. That was one of my favorite nights. You seem to know everything about me, what I think and feel and you know a lie the instant it comes out of my mouth, but somehow you don’t know that I would choose you over anyone. I loved him, you told me I was stupid for it, that I was better. The whole time I knew I would rather have you. Even when we’re talking about other people, there’s something deep inside of me that is resonating with knowing I will always want you more. I know you’re with her. I’m not trying to interfere. I would rather wait for you than pretend I could be happy with him. How much longer can I hold this in? It’s a lump in my throat that threatens to escape with every word. I’m trying to swallow these feelings but they’re choking me. Sooner or later you’re going to notice my lips have turned blue.
—strawberries (excerpt #148)