You make me feel something unfamiliar. We can be young and reckless together. We can be a bad stereotype.
I want 3:00 AM road trips with the music loud and the windows all the way down even though breathing the night air feels like swallowing ice water. We’ll feel the wind tearing at our hair like jealous hands. We’ll be too fast for them.
I want to spend the hazy summer afternoons filled to the brim with no obligations existing with you. We’ll watch the golden light melt over the landscape and pool at the edges of the shadows. We’ll see the darkness drink in the dregs of dying light.
The more I know you, the more I want to know you. I love the way your smile snags on the corners of your mouth. It intrigues me. I can’t explain how I feel in words; it is something abstract and unattainable. You asses your life with measuring cups and I with rulers. That’s what I like about you.
You are hot nights, tall grass, and being somewhere you aren’t supposed to be. You are adrenaline, running because you can, and burning lungs. Feeling good to be alive is a strange sensation to me. This is the best kind of unfamiliar.
It doesn’t matter if I love you. I just want to be here with now. I want to feel our hot breath tangling between us in the dark as unspoken words drip from the corners of our mouths and stain the sheets. I want to feel the whisper of your fingers in my hair. I am drunk on you.
Take me to where the light ripples. Make me believe in the enormity of the universe. Foster galaxies in my soul. Mold my inhibitions and sculpt them into something abstract that doesn’t exist.
Someone once told me, “When I get drunk I seek out music I listened to when I was seventeen. We all know why.” He was right. Seventeen is when we love hardest and fastest. Love does not mean compatibility and maybe the people we love, we’re not exactly meant to be with. That’s okay I think.
I know what love is. Not many people really know. Real love is bright and hot and fast and it ends. It’s like a meteor blazing to earth. Short-lived, but you have to feel it. You need the sparks of it skimming across your skin and the drunkenness of it to feel alive. I don’t care anymore. I love you. You make me feel something unfamiliar and I don’t know if that’s a good thing.