The thing that scares you:
You are talking and talking and talking. Both of you. It is one of those
conversations that lasts hours past your intended bedtime. You glance at the
clock and your watch and your cell phone once, twice, and again, and whenever
there is a lull, you say, “It’s late. I’m going to hate myself in the morning,”
but then something comes up again and you can’t seem to pry your ear from the
phone or stop laughing at his jokes. And there is one time when you are
rambling and he says, “Didn’t you say you needed to go to bed?” and you respond
to his snark with, “If you wanted to get off the phone with me, all you had
to do was say so,” and after mumbling something about you being a shit talker, he
coherently says, “Naw, I honestly don’t want this to end.”
