*Two people walk side-by-side along a cracked footpath, one steering a bicycles, the other wears red gumboots*
1: So how are your drugs going? Which ones are you on?
2: (awkward pause) They're okay. I'm on two at the moment, started a new one not that long now. I'm doing okay. I'm still here
1: What? Did you not want to be?
2: (shocked silence, stares at the ground)
1: It's okay. We've all been there. I'm not going anywhere, kid
*The pair have begun walking down an alley, following an delicate explanation of how close to leaving 2 was*
1: I don't want you to feel like this, but I'm not going to run away because of it. You know that right?
2: (despair in voice) I just don't understand why you're still here...I'm like a Pandora's box of problems. I literally don't understand why you'd want to date, see, be...with someone like me
1: Look, I don't completely know myself. Maybe because I like you...all I know is that I like hanging out with you, and we have interesting conversations. I'm not going anywhere, kid
The Poet made me hummus on toast, peppermint tea and shortbread biscuits after these (and many more) intimate conversations; as well as lying me down on his bed, kissing my neck and telling me I have a cute face. I was extra surprised when he took my hand on the way home and kissed my cheek. I could not have asked for a more perfect date considering how fucked the past few months have been (maybe that's why it sounds fucked from any other perspective but my own).
"I'm not going anywhere, kid."