1, 196 miles & 19 hours away

4

     It was 2 a.m., we were standing on your balcony looking at your pool. I made a comment about wanting to always sleep on a roof like they did in those Tumblr photos. 

     A minute later we were dragging endless blankets. There your phone's flashlight was being a guide as we set up a temporary bed.

     For a moment I thought I would never do that.

     My back ached. You were texting Jonah. The moon was to bright. The stars blurring my eyes of experience. It seemed hotter then usual. I remember the roof being so hard. I remember my head hurting from the lack of sleep. My eyes being to crafted in the stars to even think about closing them to sleep.

     In that moment I felt like if I could cross any conversation it would be as if your voice was a borrow in the background. I felt like I was spreading apart like the spaces between your words as I felt myself drift in direction.

     I woke up five times that night. Sometimes fighting myself from walking back into your house to pass out on your bed. With my tired face reflecting a she's gonna kill me when she wakes up and finds herself alone.

     It may not matter that a day after my heart hurt as I fell on my bed at home and passed out.

     That night, I was at war within myself. The likelihood of falling for a bridge so sunken into the ships I sail within myself. It can never fold back. Not when we whispered tiny sorrows into stars, and I tried making out constellations in our tired voices.

     A week later, I sat in my room drawing Ichigo from our(mostly mine)Netflix binge watch of Bleach. The 64th episode I watched that morning as you insisted in not folding the blankets on the roof. Your laughs echoed so far into my stomach I felt my insides resting within myself.

     There was a joke we made within eye contact. We lost the point we were making in a moment of laughter as we walked toward your car.

     It seems as if it may be the only place I can let go. Where I shape myself within the paces I create and the moments somehow subside to my degree of comfort. I won't forget it. I won't refuse to watch falling stars and a bright moon to remind myself of a rooftop conversation.

     This was my favorite memory.