I throw myself into it as though it is a workout

here, wear me out, I say, here, use me, I say, here, do everything but touch me,

talk to me, love me, look at me, brush my hand, choose me as your partner, text me,

but never tell me that you love me. I text Emory about crushes being like being hit by a car

(Ananya's words) and he says who do you have a crush on. And I say why do you think

I tried to hold your hand today. And he says yes I know but who else.

Oh the horror of this feeling. It's all logic melting. I give myself to it, so I don't have to give myself

to the larger things that would swallow me whole. I wear myself down. I want to wear myself out.

I want you to kiss me so I don't have to think anymore.