The Practice Room, 2 A.M.

The mirrors in the practice room have watched me fail the same eight counts for six hours. My reflection looks like someone I am trying to become and haven’t met yet.

He comes back with two cups of instant ramyeon and sits on the floor beside me without a word, because he knows that words, right now, would break me.

We eat in the dark of a room built to make us perfect, and for the length of one meal I let myself believe that being loved and being chosen might, someday, be the same thing.

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