I just finished the book I bought on our first date. It was June. I was nervous. You were running late.
From shelf to shelf I looked for something I hope you’d enjoy, something I can lend to you after I’m done. I guess I liked you enough to think about afters. That was quite new and scary for me.
I put off reading it figuring there’s plenty of time. A second date followed. There wasn’t a third. We stopped.
Now it’s May and you’re nothing more than the guy I was waiting for the day I bought Norwegian Wood.