I suppose too that this is an important
facet: S*, the boy I’m dating became a statistic tonight; another one who bit
the dust to declare his love for me—for the first time—drunk from a battle of
whiskey. In an email…he wrote “I’ve had trouble avoiding punctuating each
sentence with I love you, I love you, I love you..” and I freaked out. He didn’t
fall in love with me, but my persona. The concept of me. And I’ll continue to
present her until her novelty wears off. Until the pleasure gained from the
charm and the wit enervate and my
reality creeps in. Then I’ll watch him run.