He’s coming.

Dorian’s coming.
For the whole summer.

I already started mentally rearranging my bookshelves so he can stack his sci-fi sagas beside my poetry collections. He says he’s bringing his chess board too (I never win, but the way he explains his moves mid-game makes me forget I’m losing).

I don’t think I’ve smiled this much in weeks. I can already feel the shift—like when spring hits and you realize you’ve been holding your breath all winter.

It’s been such a weird month. The dreams, the symbols, the whispers I’m trying to forget. But knowing he’ll be here? In my space? Laughing in the kitchen while I burn garlic toast?

That’s real.
That’s mine.