when we were alone, either in his apartment or mine, he would just whisper my name for the sheer pleasure of saying it.
"monty?"
"yes?"
"we'll survive this, won't we?"
"together, we can do anything," i lied.
"we made the right choice, didn't we? cho...
❝is love a thing? is it a state of being? is it something you do?❞
❝obviously, if love can be made - if love can be manufactured - then it must be an object.❞
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I originally wrote this story in the spring of 2015 just before I graduated high school. The end finished itself easily and the threads stitched themselves together almost without my help. But without a way to share my work, I soon forgot Before We Were Lost at the bottom of my ever-growing stack of writing projects.
And there this story remained, unread and unpolished...
Until now!!
Almost four years later and I'm set to graduate again, so it only seemed fair to break this old piece out of retirement.
Before We Were Lost is written in a broken vignette style, which focuses less on plot and character development, and more on sensation, introspection, and dialogue. It's bound to be choppy. The magic is a glimmer, not a floodlight.
It's not good. At all. But I think that's part of its charm.
My 2018 edits are minor.
I only tweaked a few scenes with lessons I learned as twenty-one-year-old but otherwise, the words, ideas, and sentiments are exactly as my seventeen-year-old self imagined them. This story is a personal archaeology of my near past. The Wonder Years.
