Something between regret and relief.

I'm sorry.
For what?
For being shy.
You don't have to be sorry, that's why I like you.

You are

beaches

and

bluebottles

and

night time

and

driving

and

rollercoaster roads

and

midnight

and

black water

and

bright lights

and

big rocks

and

ice cream

and

walking

and

secret

and

shooting stars

and

dingoes

and

good morning

and

company

and

comfort

and

the opposite of lonely

and

opera

and

movies

and

one in the morning

and

breakwalls

and

jeans

and

football

and

knees

and

hands

and

orange

You told me I had small feet.
They're almost half the size of mine, You said.
My hands are small too, I said.
You laughed.

He said he cares.

"I guess this makes it all sound like I don't care about you, but I do."

I'm not sure where this thing that we have is going, but I don't think I need to be sure in order to enjoy myself.