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"There is something so romantic about somebody trying to pick your nose. It's like they are saying 'Hello, I like everything about you, I feel so comfortable sticking my finger right into a gooey part of your body without any hope of sex.'" - Anonymous



Such a small thing seemed to mean so much to her. She had this exploratory half-guarded look on her face, like a deer moving tentatively into clearing, even though it sees you there. Maybe she expected me to pull away, or laugh, or something, but I just sat there on the bed, staring at her. I knew I was staring, but I didn't feel ashamed or worried in the least bit. She was, is, amazing.

I guess things were just like that with us. We'd never have any taboos or keep any secrets from each other, because we both knew those things were so unnecessary in light of this revelation. In such a silly situation, I was feeling something I'd never felt before, for anyone, and I was utterly floored. Gone were any fears I'd reserved for such intimacies. Gone were doubts, questions, all mortal and fading things in the face of this nose picking.

I haven't seen her in a long time. They say, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder. It's true, really. I've never really wanted anybody else since. I still have this quarter to remind me of her, when pictures and words aren't enough. Something so generic and plain, now means more to me than any photograph, any letter.

It's been up her nose.

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