Black and white is a misnomer. I don’t want to believe that’s true, but it is. There is no such thing as dark and light, right and wrong, There are only hazy, murky, sometimes-ugly shades of gray.
One night we found ourselves on a bench outside a gift shop. He got up and began to pace.
“I can’t help it,” he said. “The energy.”
When he kissed me it was different. It was harder than I’d ever experienced. It hurt.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he said. “It’s wrong.” Then he walked me home and kissed me again. He was a wet mouth in a charcoal world, muddy and blinding. Then he pulled away and left.
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