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The three questions

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My mother told me that when I meet someone I like, I had to ask them three questions:
 

  1. What are you afraid of?
  2. Do you like dogs?
  3. What do you do when it rains?


...of those three, she says the first one is the most important. “They've got to be scared of something, everybody is. If they aren’t afraid of anything, then they don’t believe in anything, either.”

I met you on a Sunday, right after the concert, one look and my heart fell into my stomach like a trap door.

On our second date, I asked you what you were afraid of. “Spiders, mostly. Being alone. Little children, like, the ones who just learned how to push a kid over on the playground. Oh and space. holy shit, space.”

I asked you if you liked dogs. "I have three.” I asked you what you do when it rains. “Sleep, mostly. Sometimes I sit at the window and watch the rain drops race. I make a shelter out of plastic in my back garden for all the stray animals; leave them food and a place to sleep.”

He smiled like he knew. Like his mum told him the same thing. “How about you?”

Me?

I’m scared of so many things. Of forgetting. Of people not knowing the true me. Of the hole in the o-zone layer, of the lady next door who never smiles at her dog, of not knowing enough, or knowing too much and especially of all the secrets the government must be breaking it’s back trying to keep from us.

I love dogs so much, you have no idea. I sleep when it rains. I want to tell everyone I love them. I want to find every stray animal and bring them home. I want to wake up in your hair and make you shitty coffee and kiss your neck and draw silly stick figures of us. I never want to ask anyone else these questions ever again.

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