I'm socially awkward.
THIS IS A 100 WORDS CONTEST ENTRY
BR 100 Word Contest. Memories of being nineteen.
The car hums softly in neutral, seven minutes after her curfew, as we sit together in silence, the almost end to a perfect date. She tells me to close my eyes and then traces her finger in the palm of my hand. Slow, angled strokes, letters overwriting themselves, but I can't imagine the shapes.
She leans over and kisses my cheek, but before I can remind myself to breathe, she’s already reaching for the door.
"What was that?" I ask.
"My initials," she smiles, and like handwriting scribbled on the inside of a t-shirt, I am hers to keep.