Brand New

Every one of my 16 mosquito bites (17, since you count my tattoo every time) reminds me of you- of trampolines, of obnoxious boys who make admirable attempts to get along with me, of gas station food, of never being able to keep my shoes (sandals) on for longer than five minutes. And every single day this week has been nothing less than amazing, despite the whisperings, despite the comments that turn the moment from natural and comfortable to awkward and weird. I could spend every moment with you: getting lost on the way to Newburyport; ice cream at 9 PM; falling asleep on your bed. I'm so excited that I have all of this to look forward to, for the rest of the summer.

Defiant

Just looking at the back of your head as you watch for oncoming cars gives me butterflies. I could spend the rest of my summer doing this with you.

You open the door for me and we turn around the corner and there he is- giving me that look of a friend from long ago. But you don't know him, you don't know about ice skating and kissing and broken contact lenses and dropping out of school. He is buying a bouquet saying "It's a Boy!" and he is telling me about his job at the bank, and I realize exactly how far away my worlds used to be, before that world- the world with him- fell away and you replaced it instead. And just moments before we were joking about keying his car, and now he and I are discussing banks and I keep glancing at the bouquet like it might explain to me who it's going to, and why. Those two worlds eclipsed for a brief moment, and turning to you, I leave the brush with the past behind.

I wish that everything would slow down. May is flying by and my Senior Prom is on Thursday. To be honest, I am terrified of what comes after this.