1am

It’s one in the morning. I zoomed into Lisa’s room and threw myself on the bed where she lay reading in a near virtuoso, Fosbury flop. She bounced, jostled by my mechanical bed wave. “I hate goodbyes,” I said, indignantly. “You’re not strong on hellos” she said, not looking up. “They’re so bone-marrow deep,” I went on, “they steal hope away.” “Did that sound pretentious?” I asked her silence, a minute later, somewhat self-consciously. Lisa took the yellow, #2-pencil out of her mouth—just long enough to answer. When she studies, she chews on them, seemingly eating them like french fries. “Yeah,” she says, “but I get cha.” “I know,” I said, smiling at the ceiling, because in a rooted and real way, she always has. I’d be a different person if we’d never met. I feel very grateful for that. “Your boy’s flown?” She asked, using her pencil to hold her page and finally looking up. It was an ironic, near-rhetorical question, she knows he’s gone and she knows I know she knows he’s gone. “Yeah,” I admitted. . . Songs for this: 4am by girl in red Don't Stop The Music by Rihanna blushing! by BETWEEN FRIENDS