I was stone cold sober but something about being around drunk people the entire night had me out of sorts. I remember banging my hand against something and glancing at my fingertips in a sliver of light in the dim basement of the party and seeing blood. you had me step into the bathroom of your home and took my hand gingerly and placed a band aid over it. your hands were strong and you pressed your palm over the cut firmly, and something within me buckled and gave way. you said you did things like this all the time, and I retorted with what? take care of bleeding strangers in your bathroom? you responded by citing your mom and her diabetes and murmuring about how many times you’ve had to handle her ailments, and I fell quiet. I should’ve kissed you then but I was too sober and too shy and the intimacy of the moment was enough to keep me going for a while, at least.