She said that this whole thing was a mistake. But how can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her? Love is not a mistake. It’s scaring me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself being crushed by an endless succession of cars. She was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.