a certain slant of light | completed;

𝙨𝙞𝙭

I remember coming in to you room with a bucket of Buffalo wings in my hand on your 18th birthday and sat on the base of your bed. Your room smelled like honeysuckle, and a square of light radiated through the window.

I went to browse your study table and found an assortment of novels. I knew then that you were head over heels in love with their pages. Glitz and glitters, cheezy romance, biopic memoirs, teen fiction, and leading-edge mysteries.

"Do you want to borrow something?" You asked.

"I just caught All the Bright Places here and thought you haven't returned it to me yet," I derided.

You smiled thereafter, artlessly, and left whatever you were doing to sit on your bed hammock alongside me. You reached out, and kissed my head.

"That's my favourite novel. And I'm keeping it because I love it," he sighed after, "...and you, too. I have your heart in the right place. I'm going to keep you near me, just like Violet to Theodore."

I leaned in and kissed your face, then you stroked my right cheek, and ran your hands down my neck, then laterally to my love handles. You tighten your hold around them, and kissed away all the uneasiness from my being.

Breakneck, I felt like I was in my happy hunting ground.

The radiance of the sun on the window illuminated us.

"You have been driving me crazy for weeks," you whispered. I wanted to cry my heart out because you were so compelling, and soul-draining, and irresistible, and beautiful.

In that instant, I felt boundless. It felt right to put my faith on what crazy people-in-love call forever.

At this point?

I don't know if I'm still a believer.