I remember when I was ten my mother took me to visit her friend who had two daughters, one of which I thought was extremely attractive. The butterflies of anxiety over liking a girl is something I never forget, probably because it’s something that hasn’t changed thirty years later. I love that feeling, though I’ve learned that if I act on it I get my feelings hurt. So now I just let the feeling happen, enjoy it, and never use it as a guide to chose who to talk to. Lies. Complete lies. I always act on it, and even though it happens few and far between as it always has I wouldn’t miss the opportunity of finding out if fairy tales really do happen. So far they don’t. At least when I’m sober. But I’m patient. Kinda.