Constructing a mindset when it comes to you is like building a house of cards. Our interactions are so varied, so contrary to each other that hours of flirtation can be obliterated by subsequent days of indifference. When at last I feel the quieting of endless thoughts of you, you take me out again on a loop, with a look, a touch, daring declarations of simulated love.

I know that none of it is real. We’ve fabricated this show with implicit understanding that we don’t mean any of it. But I can’t seem to suppress the hope that maybe we do.

I am tired.