Josh Hermsen

The Need to Be Needed

I sat there in the booth, staring at her from across the table, etching every minute detail into my mind. Her face was pale, her eyes dead, and her hair, parted on the left, was falling in a mess of black tangles to the right. I don’t remember how we got there. I always seem to lose the beginning of the sentence by the time I get to the end. My thoughts fragmented but simultaneously fluid, as if I’m just starting to see the whole picture only to lose it again with a new piece. I liked being there, I felt comfortable. I was being asked for advice.