My Favorite Shooting Star

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I was trying so hard to hear all the beautiful words coming from his lips… But all I could process was his arm around me and his hand on my thigh and his kisses on my cheek and his patience stumble over my words like I do.

I tried to play it casual, my walls stand tall. But they were no match for his love, his acceptance of me.

Wait, no. I’m not thin. I dropped out of school. I grew up in a cult.
I’m not enough.

And yet he wanted me, for all the time that he had here. My company, my hand, my smile.

I drove him to the train station later that afternoon. I knew I probably wouldn’t see him again, but somehow that was okay. Somehow keeping him was not what it was about…
He had already given me enough.

The love we shared, not deep, but flowing. Light streaks for each other.

Friend, you are my favorite shooting star. Thank you for reminding me that I am lovable.