The five o’ clock air is thick. The condensation coats my face like marmalade, sticky and sweetly cool in the early evening. Almost as sweet as the melted slurpee sweating on my windowsill, the slurpee you bought for me because that’s “what friends do.” Shy wordplay and small smiles creep into the present and I remember where my afternoon went.
Lately I think of you far more than I ought to. I am here because of my actions in the past. Here, alone. I wouldn’t be so stupid as to let a chemical feeling interrupt a friendship, but I did it before and it would be so easy….
I shall quietly cherish these secret smiles inside my mind. Here between myself, my pillow, and my windowsill. Because certain things should stay in that space.
