• 18 Nov, 2025 *

it’s pitch black outside — maybe one am. it’s cool, but not cold. i always like august in michigan, it’s cool enough that you don’t want to die but hot enough you don’t feel like you need to bundle up. i don’t remember what im wearing - something nondescript, a hoodie and shorts, maybe. you’re wearing a sweater and jorts. the drooping branches of the trees cover any stars - which is why i brought you here, to watch the stars with you at my old elementary school. although, they renovated (rebuilt) it so it looks different. more modern. it’s not the dingy, magical school from the 1960s that i remembered. we’re sitting in this weird little kumbaya circle. i think, technically, it’s a fire pit. i don’t really know why an elementary school would have a fire pit, but they do.

we sit on one of the benches, facing each other, flirting. by flirting i mean you flirting with me and me getting weirdly bashful about it. i still am really awkward around you - not like i am with others, like ray or olivia or quin or izzy - i’m more open, unreserved, louder. with you i’m free, almost. with you the sun hasn’t set yet, it has only risen, brightening the calm blue. you tell me i look really pretty tonight, under the black sky, engulfing both of us into a crisp embrace. i make this weird face - somewhat between a pout and a smile, my bottom lip jutting out, while the sides curl upwards. “you’re bright pink,” you giggle. “i know,” i shoot, “don’t laugh!” a man coughs in the distance - his window is open and, if i remember correctly - he was watching some doctor tv show.

i don’t want much in this moment but i know that i want you to kiss me. i want to taste the warm of your lips. grab me by the waist, tell me im yours. pull me closer. don’t push me away. i can’t be pushed away anymore. a while ago i confided in you i like to self destruct. something goes well for me and i ruin it. i have done it many times, addie is only the most recent. perhaps you’re next, but i hope not. i joke that it’s me punishing myself and, instead of laughing awkwardly, you reassure me you won’t go away. i stare into your eyes - they remind me of so many things - of trees in spring, of fresh grass, of lakes i used to go to as a kid, of safety. truly, i am taken aback by the beauty of them. they’re ombré, sorta. the outer edges are a greenish color while the inner edges are more blue. i’m, in an odd sense, a little jealous. mine are just straight coffee brown. my hair is unassuming. deep bark brown and somewhat curly near the ends. tik tok has recently dubbed it irish curls.

i can hear the my eyes as i blink. they make that weird, wet, fleshy sound that makes me shudder. “whats wrong?” you ask, quirking your head a tad.

“nothing,” i lie. i’m a bad liar.

“something’s up”

“no. nothings up.”

we go back and forth like this until i crack, the words spilling out of me like yolk. “fine, i want you to ki…” i trail off. “im too embarrassed to say it” which is half the truth. i’m more scared of rejection- i know you won’t. “it starts with k and ends in two s’s” you burst out laughing. your laugh always sounds melodic. sometimes i imagine music notes exiting your throat as if it were cigarette smoke when you speak. you do sing, after all. i still want to hear you sing.

we laugh. we laugh and laugh and laugh and fall into each other and you press me even more and i mumble, looking away sheepishly: “i want you to kiss me.”

and you know what makes this the more sick? you’re so smooth. and i am awkward and clumsy around you and you’re so put together. “we can arrange for that to happen,” you grin, pulling my chin closer to yours.

i think we made out for at least an hour that night. it was so magical - my stomach felt empty and full of butterflies at the same time, bouncing against the inner lining of my stomach and crashing into each other. i don’t know, i can’t keep track of time. but we both have school tomorrow - i have a class at 1pm and you get up at 6:30 in the morning. after a while i suggest we go home. you agree, but i have to race you first.

i laugh. you lower your chin. raise your eyebrows. you’re serious. “i won’t win, despite the longer legs,” i warn. you deny my statement - but it’s true. i am fast, but not fast enough to win. the race is on. we speed towards this door that leads to the interior of the school - it’s all modern and open inside, a far cry from the elementary school i knew that was closed off and charming. it seemed so sterile, unloved. naked. obviously, you win the race and seemed shocked. i had to make sure i wasn’t gonna fart when i ran - everytime i run i fart - and you kiss me some more. i’m head over heels for you at this point.

my car is the only one in the parking lot, silver, and shining like a dim star nearing the end of its life. like a star, i sometimes hope it will be replaced when it dies. i turn the engine on, a pop artist comes on. you dont make fun of my music choices, in fact you compliment them. i appreciate that.

as we drive out, the conversation still flows. we joke about what happened - how we’re just platonic friends despite both of us liking the other. i realize that if i had the option, id want to have you in my life for a long time.

maybe forever.

eventually i drop you off at your house — i needed directions, i hadn’t really memorized where you lived yet. my eyes droop. you kiss me on the cheek. thank you. thank you. i drive home, silently, i go ten under the speed limit. i make it to my own home, unlock the scraped blue door with a code and then lock it. mom’ll be mad if i leave it unlocked. the walk up to my room is a hike. or, perhaps more accurately, a climb, one similar to climbing mt everest. my bed clutches me like a mother to a daughter, wrapping me under two blankets.