At last, I'm finally hanging out with my crush—the one I've yearned for all these years—the one I've stayed up all those nights thinking about.
The heavy stench of cannabis wafts through the air. With every inhale I fall deeper into a fictional world, pushing me further away from reality. The sight of the joint burning reminds me of the sun, the scalding flames blazing throughout the universe and all its wonders. I pass it over to my crush, who sits beside me as we bask in the sun. Her soft lips wrap around the filter and suck in the hot smoke. I think of all the places on my body I'd love to feel those same lips kissing me.
We sit back, laughing and talking, just the two of us. We discuss all our plans and ambitions for the future. I tell her that I want to be a stockbroker (something I'd never actually pursue if I was sober), which makes her laugh because she says I sound ridiculously stoned. She goes on to tell me that she wants to be an architect. At first, I can't tell if I believe her, but the longer she looks at me with those hazy eyes, the more I feel she might be serious. Man, that girl is something. I could do this forever.
Just the way she carries herself. She's perfect the way she is. She doesn't have to have a model body or a gorgeous face that you'd see on the cover of a magazine. The way she is right now is just what I need.
We laugh and talk more, gossiping and living life while we're still young, the THC flooding through our bloodstream. What a beautiful moment this is for me—for us. I never want it to end. I wish I could stay here for the rest of eternity, just her and I alone together.
But only if she were real...because I know I'm just high again.
Of course, that's why it's called Smoking With My Crush.
