Three weeks.

Okay. It's been almost three weeks.

Three weeks after meeting Crazy Ex (look, he finally got a name), I was stealing his favorite t-shirt and cataloguing the endearing things he'd said.

Data collected after three weeks is not data. It looks like data, but it lies.

But I'm afraid.

That's not the point. I'm not afraid for him. I'm afraid for me. That's new.