:: smell you on my hand for days, i can’t wash away your scent ::

it
was your seventeenth. she ruined it for you. two days beforehand, she
was speaking words that were the polar opposite. two days changes a lot
in the mind of a seventeen-year-old, i guess. even if you did watch
romeo & juliet to-gether.

“i see queen mab hath been with you!”

“this is she! THIS IS SHE!!!”

eight-hundred
and seventy-nine days later, liz dropped you off. where I-77 meets 421
at the gas station with the dirty bathroom. scribblings from hundreds
of different sharpies covered the walls. to own a cellphone then was
unheard of (but if you did, incoming calls were free). earlier, you
stopped in natural bridge, va to call from the pay phone. the gas pumps were manual, the temperature was right about thirty, and the civil war had yet to end.

“did you know there’s a mountain made of stone nearby?”

“stone?”

“i’ll show you.”

it’s
october again, not quite three years later. you’d met her only two
weeks before but you crush harder than the (orange) denver defense.
thirteen stars fell from the sky that night. thirteen. you’d
never even seen even one before. the sand was cold and so was the
mid-october breeze. it didn’t matter, that green michigan state hoodie
was warm.

“it’s almost four.”

“really?”

“we should go back, they’ve probably already locked the doors.”

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