We're laying on a mattress on the floor of the basement and we're both really fucking high. Just staring at the ceiling, tenuously holding onto those last few moments of empty-minded contentment before reality sauntered back in to talk about over-drafts and rent and tests we hadn't even thought about yet.
We'd been flirting with each other all day, but it was in that weird, quasi-platonic way common to moderately attractive young people in love with someone else. A pre-game pep talk in the locker-room of our self-perception before we went out and tried to win the true object of our affections.
I don't remember her name, or her face. I know that I found her attractive without being attracted to her, and that we later became the kind of perpetually estranged friends that would hug and smile big stupid smiles whenever we bumped into each other at parties, but never bothered to exchange phone numbers or set up lunch dates.
As foolish as it sounds, I think it's because we got on too well together. There was no conflict between us, and we skipped several chapters of friendship and went right to the part where you just lay in comfortable silence, staring at the ceiling, finding comfort in, but not actively aware of, the other person's presence, like a light left on in the bathroom of a strange house.
*somebody do something about all the run-on sentences, oh my god