When you're better at being single
Sitting in a dimly lit theater, his hand wanders over to my thigh. Suddenly he’s scooting closer and closer and I am quietly wondering if maybe it would be easier if we just shared a seat. Like perhaps he is a toddler and needs my lap. Though I don’t think his 6’2’’ stature is going to fit well. I contemplate this as my eyes bore holes into the hand he ISN’T moving. I should like this gesture right? I should appreciate the kiss he just gave me on my cheek instead of wondering when I am going to be able to wipe off the saliva he left behind, without him noticing. Leaving the theater, instead of appreciating the territorial arm that quickly jumps to my waist as another man gives me a friendly hello, I am creating my escape plan; the text I will send him after I get home, the karate arms I will use in the car when he tries to stick his tongue down my throat, and the way I will express to him that while I DO like him, I don't want him to be my boyfriend. It always goe...