Wandering eye

Or mind. Wandering mind.

First official date with The Musician, lunch and talking and me still being ravenous when I got home and walking and this pier with fiddler crabs and a view and talk of the salty air and our mutual fear of birds and one time one flew into his car and talking too long about former relationships and wondering when he would kiss me and I didn't call my sister back but did manage to say fuck in front of a small child.

Just the usual.

But knowing how slow things must proceed with him, how guarded I am and how scared he is, knowing this made me think of things I can (or can't? Or can?) have, like the Third Grader. Despite his being gone already. So maybe... can't.

It feels primal. This can/can't. Kissing doesn't kill has suddenly taken a turn for the ...sex. Well, sex doesn't kill, either.