these three things

one

She lies peacefully asleep on the couch beside me. I stroke her auburn hair, tangling wisps of it in my fingertips.
I watch her sleep. She's so beautiful. An enigmatic girl, she crashed into my life. Literally. We became friends the instant she bumped heavily into me as I was entering the same café that she was exiting. Half of her unpronounceable girly beverage had spilt down the front of my shirt. She insisted on buying me coffee, I insisted on buying her coffee.

We bonded over piping mugs and damp clothing. She said her name was Sage. I said my name was Wilder. She smiled and pushed her hair back, revealing several intricate earrings in her right ear. I always loved a pierced girl.
She asked me about my work. I told her everything about my years as a struggling musician. Cognac eyes widening, a brightening to her skin, she was rapt. She's never met a musician before. Likewise, I'd never met a philosophy student. She had planned on becoming an author of spiritual books. I had planned on becoming a solo Mumford And Sons.

She spoke avidly about how she wished she'd get married one day. I implored her impassionately not to embark on something so foolish. I told her of my experience just that past winter, marrying a one-shot-thanks-a-lot during a drunken rendezvous.
Such unnecessary costs to have the marriage annulled. So much time and energy would have been saved it we were just prohibited from tying the knot.

Ah, but maybe that was the universe's way of telling you to cut down on weekends of sweaty debauchery, she smirks triumphantly. Furthermore, this person wasn't somebody you knew, somebody that had grown on you and that you had grown to love. Therefore you cannot categorise the entirety of marriage into a single unpleasant experience.

We grew on each other, all right; grew on each other's nerves. I toss my head dismissively. She sniggers, all fading lipstick and gleaming white teeth. Eyes shimmering happily as she watches me squirm. I hardly speak to girls and they laugh at my jokes even less. This is uncharted ground for me.

By the time I'm done with you you'll worship the institute of marriage and will be eager to get hitched to that special girl! She announces with a flourish. She has such zest, I remember marvelling at the time. How does she so effortlessly colour  the world around her in shades of red and orange and yellow and green and gold? I continue to wonder as we talked the afternoon away.

That was five years ago when we were twenty-two and impressionable. Now we're twenty-seven and jaded. She's almost twenty-eight and engaged.
Not to me.

She thinks she's never quite gotten it right, teaching me how to love the idea of marriage. Truth is, she'll never know just how right she was. I do want to get married.

I want Sage and I always have. Trouble is, I'm her best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.