three january
twelve : forty a.m.

"i don't know what to do."

"yes you do. because i nagged you about it all summer."

"i don't know how."

"to bring it up?"

"i guess."

"if you knew how, would you?"

and as he said "maybe," and she sang "nothing can hurt you now, don't turn around when you're walking," i started to cry.

he'll never do it.