I think about leaning against a table, my forearm upright, my chin cupped in my palm. I study you. I’ve had four glasses of wine and I almost want you to catch me staring.

I lose track of you instead — I find you moments later leaning into my shoulder. I tell you I was about to text you to ask where you’d gotten off to, you ask if that means we’re soulmates. In that drunken moment my answer is “yes, I think so,” but I only laugh instead.

I think about this often, and I come to the conclusion that soulmates probably don’t have to ask if that’s what they are. Then again, maybe we’re soulmates with anxiety. Call it a draw. It’s okay either way.

When you’re drunk you pull me closer to you and tell me, “I like it when you’re here.” You tell me, “This is really nice.” You notice new things about me and tell me, “I knew I loved you.”

I know in the morning you no longer do, don’t worry.

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