That morning, I woke up to Cody standing over me, shaking his head, holding a warm washcloth in his hand, saying, “Just think. You’re the one who didn’t have anything to drink.”



I fell asleep in my jeans.



I was wearing the same boring long sleeved top I wore the night before.


I smelled like a strange mixture between a bar fight and a new car with that unmistakable, clean-leather smell lingering on the back of my shirt.



I sounded like a tuberculosis ward.



Forcing myself up, I looked into the mirror and decided that yes, the bags under my eyes are permanent and no, it is not the fault of my goddamn hour of R.E.M. The migraine between my eyes was telling me that I might as well have a hangover. But that’s what you get, you know, when you think yourself into exhaustion. That and a bold black X on your cheek because you’re under eighteen and you fell asleep on your hand, you dumb ass. Note to self: learn to use a sink. At this point I just thank Cody for the washcloth and apologize for sleeping diagonally across the bed.



February 11th, I was practically praying for rain and that the sunset would be breathtaking even though I wouldn’t be outside to see it.



I needed the wind to be blowing towards the south and my eyes to be bluer than they’d ever been before.



I prayed he would have a flaw.



Just one.



I needed a copy of How to Kiss the Best Person You’ve Ever -Not- Met in Your Life For Dummies. And if no one had written that one yet, I needed them to step it up because I had about ten minutes to figure it out.



This is already too long. I should have already mentioned that we left early and that there’s no such thing as a decent place to park when you just want to be alone anymore. And that even when it starts to seem like you’re the only two people within a 50 mile radius, the bright street light shining through the condensation on the windows is rather rude about waking you up. That kissing him felt like breathing and all I had to do was memorize how many times he'd been the reason to push myself through another day and kiss him the way I always wanted to but never had the chance.



If it wasn’t in my nature to be entirely taciturn, I would have told him to his face that his eyes make me feel a goddamn puddle. That I love his smile more than I love autumn. That I’m sorry and I can’t seem to pull myself together because I’m normally much better at this, I swear, but you make me feel like a fumbling child.



You’re going to be the one who makes me wish I was unbreakable. Invincible. Ignorant as hell. Because I can tell…



That this time, it’s actually going to hurt.






Because you’re everything that I was afraid you would be.



Because you’re perfect.

02/12/2007