We got back around midnight. I have no idea what we were thinking, but it was great. It was just us, in the car, laughing and pretending the future wasn't always right behind us. We were drunk on each other and the smell of the mountains that we were driving through for no other reason than that we wanted to. It was impulsive, and a little stupid. But up there, with no cell sevice and a car that was almost out of gas, it seemed like the best idea either of us had ever had. We were so ehausted when we got back to my house. I'd forgotten to turn the porch light on so when you stole a kiss I couldn't see you or the keys I was fumbling with. When I finally did find the right key, I didn't want to open the door because then the night would be over and I would be stuck alone trying (and failing) to go to sleep. That's why I didn't open the door right away. Somehow you knew that I didn't want to let go of you, so you opened the door yourself and lead me in by the hand. And then there we were, together, in the dark, in the crowded entryway to my house. We stood there, listening to each other breathe for a long time. Or was it a short time? I can't tell, and I don't need to remember. I could see your chest rise and fall with each breath, and I remember that your eyes sparkled in the darkness, even though there was no light to reflect. Maybe I imagined it, maybe I was so exhausted that I couldn't see properly. I don't care becaue I knew it was real then, and you knew it, and in silent agreement we walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. You whispered something to me. I don't know what you said, because I was too focused on how close your face was to mine to hear what you were trying to tell me. Eventually, after a conversation that I don't really remember, I pulled you upstairs and gave you a toothbrush, and a set of my dad's old pajamas. You knew exactly what I meant and what I was asking and you said yes. I got ready for bed in my parents' bathroom, half asleep, and then lay under the covers and stared at the ceiling. I slept for a few minutes before I felt you slide in next to me and curl up, trying not to disturb me. I slept and you slept, and the world was asleep and everything was silent and beautiful. When I woke up I saw that you were gone and I wanted to throw up. I wanted to know if I did something wrong, or said something that bothered you. I dragged myself out of bed, and stumbled half-heartedly down the stairs. And there you were. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, in your oversized T-shirt, smiling your radiant, satisfying, gorious, sun smile. Then you said something about breakfast and a table and we sat down while the sun streamed weakly through the kitchen window.