Everything I'm about to write is fictional. Entirely fictional. So I assume zero responsibility for all the statements hereafter.

He asked me why we were normal, and I gave him an explanation that made sense to me. That it's feelings, I guess, but I don't know if it's really feelings. It should be. Me not being okay with involving other people in our sexual relations. As much as I want to move away from an unconventional relationship, a part of me moves closer. It's as if I like and don't like it at the same time. Sometimes I feel like I express jealousy about you and other girls just for the sake of it, when I'm not really jealous underneath, but an impulse calls for it. Do you understand? You're just unfortunate, I guess. I feel like you were just pigeonholed into this position in my mind.

Yeah, I guess it only made sense to me.

People like to say, "It's because you actually like him." You can almost see their face contort in the manner if they were to say the statement in slow motion. It's because you actually like him. It just sounds too convenient to me. Poor guy. Maybe if I didn't. actually. like. him that much, he'd have the wildest manifestations of his fantasies fulfilled.

He thinks it's companionship that we're together. I don't know what it is, so I'll just agree with him.

Learning the map of America.

I copied the nondescript shape onto my notebook, and then turned to ask him, "What state is this?" "Pennsylvania," he answered, and then gave this weird huff of breath that functions as a chuckle, which I've inadvertently picked up because it's such a convenient way of laughing. Yes, I am learning the map of America. Fifty motherfucking states in a country. (And a federal district, says Wikipedia.) It's interesting to be on the other side. Who knew Massachusetts was not south of New York. My first quiz on that certainly did not, and if I thought I could get partial credit by writing Boston all over Pennsylvania I was wrong.

This country is huge, and I feel like I'm never going to leave.