I’d felt that, against a cab window, so many times before you, in that thick heavy silence where you’re wondering what’s next. Your movements are no longer casual; everything feels heavier. I’m tired of my re-run nights of mistakes, of my safe one-bedroom, single serving of a life. It’s why I reached my hand out toward you. The reaching is the hard part; it’s like getting to the gym. Once I’m there, it’s all gravy fries. And when we entered my apartment, you told me you were a smart man, the kind who wouldn’t let someone like me go.