I measured the distance between us. On the couch....

I measured the distance between us. On the couch. On the car. At dinner. Always. Eighteen inches. Twenty-two inches. Fourteen inches. I measure. I notice. I remember. When you move closer, I notice. When you pull away, I die a little. You're just sitting. Existing. Normal. I'm calculating proximity like a geometry problem. This is not normal friend behavior. This is obsession. This is illness. This is love.