Never a good time to say that she was beautiful, in the dark beside me,
she smelled like sweat sunshine mixed with vanillas.
And on this moon night i could see little of more than her silhouette expect when she smoked,
when the burning cherry of cigarette washed her in pale red light.
But even in the dark i could see her emaralds eyes kind of eye that makes you to support her endavour.
She talked softly and thoughtfully, like she was telling me a secret, and I leaned in towards her,
suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that we must kiss, that we ought to kiss right now.
And I would have, I would have kept leaning towards her until it became necessary to tilt my face so as to miss her ski-slope nose,
and I would have felt the shock of her soft lips. I would have.
But then she snapped out of it.
"No," she said, and I couldn't tell at first whether she was reading my kiss-obsessed mind or responding to herself out loud,
She turned away from me, and softly, maybe to herself, said
"I'm not going to be one of those people who sits around and imagine the future is a kind of nostalgia."
You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day,
and how awesome it will be and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.
Back in my room,
I rolled back towards the wall and pulled the comforter over my head. I didn't know whether to trust her,
and I'd certainly had enough of her unpredictability - cold one day, sweet the other moment,irresistibly obnoxious, the next irresistibly flirty.
In a testament to the power of fatigue, I managed to fall asleep quickly.
I woke up half an hour later when she sat down on my bed with a red bottle.
I worried about it for a moment as I held the bottle by the neck, but I wanted to trust her, and so I did.
I took a minors and as soon as I swallowed, I felt my body rejecting the stinging syrup, but I swallowed.
We lay in the bed between the walls and window and the our passing back and forth and tilting to sip.
And she read aloud to me, her soft voice mingling with the frogs' croaking and the grasshoppers bouncing softly around us.
I did not hear her words so much as her voice. She spoke flawlessly and confidently,
I thought it might be a fine time to tell her.
Before I could even begin to breathe out the words,
she said, "It's not life or and death,"Suffering," "Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you" as soon as i could say,
I felt the absence.
Just like that.
From a hundred miles an hour to asleep in a nanosecond.
I wanted so to lie next to her in the most innocent sense of the phrase.
But I lacked the courage and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating.
So I walked back to my room and too fast collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.