She writes about him. He writes about me. I write about both of them. It’s this weird triangle. From me, to him, to her. From her, to him, to me. From me, to her, to him. I guess I’m at the head of this. He loves me. She hates that he does. And I don’t know how to feel about any of this. Because although I currently hold his attention they are still connected through her words. The words she writes are like a lasso that she’s thrown in his direction…& she’s captured him. Only he doesn’t even realize it. So even though he and I are walking hand in hand, she can tug that rope at any moment and regain control. Over him. Over his heart. I don’t have that kind of power. I don’t have his heart. I have his eyes. He lusts after me. He longs for her. She writes about him thinking that he no longer reads. But their words are what connected them. So naturally his curiosity keeps him coming back to her words. And even when he’s writing about me he slips up every now and then. He said this was about me, but not this line. That’s not me. It’s her.