The phone rings. “Asshole,” she mutters. She picks it up. “Will you let me explain?” “No.” She hangs up.
Janie. Does not like. To be called. Buffy.
With practice, you will master your own dreams.
She sits in the driveway, freezing, for thirty-six minutes. Arguing with herself. Because she thinks she's in love with him too. And there are two ways she can be a fool in love right now. She chooses the harder one. And knocks on the door.
No rash decisions. No big commitments. Each day as it comes.
Maybe you don't have to remember something for it to be true. For it to exist.