I couldn't sleep the night before. No position felt comfortable as I told my mind to stop thinking. As soon as I stopped trying, my mind began racing like an escaped pet tasting forbidden freedom. What would we do? And more importantly, would we even make it?
It was morning when I picked you up in my 89' Mazda Protege, the same car that would try and kill me by breaking my neck. It was overcast and chilly, my favorite kind of day. You wore jeans and a red t-shirt hidden by your black windbreaker. You were all smiles. And so was I. And away we went, speeding off towards the horizon and towards our destination - Newport Beach. The journey was an adventure in itself - I had no idea where I was going, following your directions as you fumbled with a paper map.
We made it. Before us stretched a gray infinity, roaring and crashing and flowing. A paradise to call our own, if only for an afternoon. I watched you intently. Your eyes closed as the sea breeze stroked your hair. Watched you breathe in contently, feeling alive. I grabbed the blanket and together we placed our square on the sand and lay there, side by side watching the waves. It was here that I scribbled my hopes and future thoughts on the piece of plain white paper. You responded with a message I wasn't allowed to read, placed the letter with a seashell and sealed the envelope. You kissed me then, just a quick kiss. I remember how soft your lips are, the radiating warmth, your familiar scent. We held hands - our fingers interlaced and fitting perfectly as we gazed together at the edge of the world.
I don't remember what happened between writing the letter and leaving the beach, but I do remember dinner together. Nothing fancy. Just a tiny pizza parlor on Balboa Island. You stood beside me as I ordered for us. One slice of pepperoni, one slice of sausage. And together we sat at a two-person table beside the window watching Jeopardy as the sun set before us. Our sunset. I looked into your eyes as you looked into mine. I remember this moment as the most content I've ever been.
It was morning when I picked you up in my 89' Mazda Protege, the same car that would try and kill me by breaking my neck. It was overcast and chilly, my favorite kind of day. You wore jeans and a red t-shirt hidden by your black windbreaker. You were all smiles. And so was I. And away we went, speeding off towards the horizon and towards our destination - Newport Beach. The journey was an adventure in itself - I had no idea where I was going, following your directions as you fumbled with a paper map.
We made it. Before us stretched a gray infinity, roaring and crashing and flowing. A paradise to call our own, if only for an afternoon. I watched you intently. Your eyes closed as the sea breeze stroked your hair. Watched you breathe in contently, feeling alive. I grabbed the blanket and together we placed our square on the sand and lay there, side by side watching the waves. It was here that I scribbled my hopes and future thoughts on the piece of plain white paper. You responded with a message I wasn't allowed to read, placed the letter with a seashell and sealed the envelope. You kissed me then, just a quick kiss. I remember how soft your lips are, the radiating warmth, your familiar scent. We held hands - our fingers interlaced and fitting perfectly as we gazed together at the edge of the world.
I don't remember what happened between writing the letter and leaving the beach, but I do remember dinner together. Nothing fancy. Just a tiny pizza parlor on Balboa Island. You stood beside me as I ordered for us. One slice of pepperoni, one slice of sausage. And together we sat at a two-person table beside the window watching Jeopardy as the sun set before us. Our sunset. I looked into your eyes as you looked into mine. I remember this moment as the most content I've ever been.
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