i wasn’t wearing socks, which is considered some kind of travesty in the wilderness. you practically sprinted to your tent to get me a pair, but managed to maintain your condescending air while doing it. 

“why the fuck would you forget socks?” you demanded as you tossed me a pair. i just smiled. i was used to assholes, i loved them. my best guy friends were condescending, as was the boy i loved and the boy i was infatuated by. 

i wiggled my feet and laughed. i couldn’t tell if you were smirking or smiling, but it was good enough for me. 

the moment was fast, full of feeling and fleeting, just as we were. we were joined by our friends as we sat on the ground, but i was facing you. the sun was setting, a sinking orange ball that kissed the horizon. my eyes were closed, so i didn’t know you were looking at me. when i was younger, i used to love closing my eyes when the sun set so that the insides of my eyelids were irradiated with an orange glow. i was staring at the inside of my eyes when you spoke.

“your hair is like… red in the sun.” you pulled a strand away from my face to inspect it, only to find as you brought it closer, your shadow obstructed the sunlight. you dropped my hair and leaned back, that half-smirk on your face again. 

“pretty.” it was casual, but i ducked my chin and smiled to my knees. i found it hard to stomach my meal that night, possibly because my hamburger was charred but mostly my nervous energy was making it hard to breathe. 

i wondered if this is what moving on felt like.

the sun had dipped below the tree line, and you stopped including me in the conversation. you relived old memories of pride rocks and mosquitos with your friends and i wondered if your affection faded with the red in my hair. i went to bed that night still unable to breathe correctly, but for the wrong reasons. 

after four weeks and a series of bad decisions, we found ourselves on a rooftop. the sky was flooded with stars, and that familiar sense of breathlessness was creeping back into my chest. i had a thing for stars, and you knew that. 

wagon wheel came on, as it tends to be playing at the perfect moment, and you turned your attention away from the stars and looked at me. i was already turned towards you, the rough roof rubbing against my hipbone. 

“see? this the type of night i wanted us to be.”

my breath caught and i couldn’t think of an appropriate response. i was never known for my charm. 

“i-i’m sorry…” it was a pathetic response. you gave me stars and flawless country songs, and all i gave you was a stuttered apology. 

you smirked again, always that damn smirk, and glanced back up at the stars. you paused for a while, possibly for theatrics, and then turned back towards me. your smirk faded fast and you looked serious with your teeth pressed into your bottom lip and brow furrowed. 

“we could still be that kind of night.” and i wanted to retort with some kind of clever remark about if you wanted to kiss me, you didn’t have to look that serious about it because i wanted you to kiss me so just kiss me goddammit. but as always, i was breathless thus unable to deliver my non-existing witty remark. but you kissed me anyway. 

i wondered if this is what falling in love felt like. 

i had been in love. real love. with teacups and a dark green convertible and a beautiful blonde boy who was too smart and charming and wealthy and sarcastic and romantic to be interested in me (though he was destructive and indifferent and impulsive and made some considerable dents in my heart. large enough that i am still unable to really speak to anyone face to face about it.) he was peter, i was wendy, we loved each other deeply and sincerely and fully and all other adverbs you can think of will apply. and we fell out of love with intentional bite marks and drunk phone calls and forgotten promises and insecurity and the loss of our summer spent chasing the sun. but i never remember falling in love. it happened so early, he started his courting when he was twelve for some unknown reason (i still parted my hair in the center and was uncomfortably awkward) that the moments when i was falling in love are lost, buried under the haze of adolescence and altered memories. it was as if i was fifteen, and knew i was in love, and had been in love for years before that. as if i had woken up one morning and said “i love him and have loved him for as long as i can remember and will continue to love him because this is what i know.” and then continued on with my day. 

but on your roof, listening to the croon of old crow medicine show, you kissed me like you really smiled, big and brilliant with a bit too much teeth. 

and with your lips pressed against my birthmark, i took a deep breath, my eyes on the stars. 

people come, and people leave. stars shine and stars fade. people breathe in, and people breathe out. 

(lafilledepapier)

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