To the boy I dragged: I'm sorry

An instant rewind from the girl who felt too much, too fast, and wrote about it anyway.

I take back what I said — I was the problem. He’s actually still a sweetheart.

Last Sunday night, I couldn’t sleep because it dawned on me: he likes me. And not in a performative, vague way. In a kind, consistent, softly persistent way. When I reread our texts, I realized I misinterpreted them before. When I first read them it was like they were laced with the tangles of my trauma — my past experiences, assumptions, patterns — and none of that was his fault.

Despite me not texting for a few days, he still wanted to go out again. He was gentle and patient. He’s still all the things I tried to pretend he wasn’t.