Amber Smith

And I’m just a girl, a girl who needs to pick up her own pieces and put them back together herself.

. I stare at my hands—these steady, capable things—capable of things.

get the feeling that his arms are the only thing holding these broken pieces of me together.

Why do I feel like, sometimes, I have no one in the entire world who knows me in even the slightest, most insignificant way?

I have nearly forgotten all about Josh Miller and the seat he was saving for me. Forgotten everything except for those eyes, that is.

I steal a glance. He’s grinning. He’s cute, and he knows it too.

He laughs too, as he takes his phone out. I recite my number to him, never wanting this moment—him standing close to me like this, smiling—to end.

“I’ve never seen you eat before. You look cute.” He laughs

“Good. Do you always eat this slowly, or is it just ’cause I’m here?” He smirks.

“It’s called tasting, maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Yeah, really. I think that too. It’s hard not to when you look at the way things are. How fucked up the world is, I mean.”

“Mm, yeah,” I agree. But the truth is that right now, in this moment, the world feels pretty amazing to me.