Eyes lock, a glance held for a moment that turns to minutes. There's thousands of miles behind yours, depths I can only hope to touch the surface of, and I don't know how. Your hand reaches, searching; finds mine, gripping so tight it's almost too much, and you make my heart race. We're surrounded, but you're the only one in this place right now, and I can barely breathe.

Your kisses - our first ones - are slowly fading from my lips, the windows down and the scent of cold, clear and sharp, burns my nostrils, a little ache in my chest as we drive away. I miss you already. The warmth of your body lingers on my skin, evaporating into the chill air. I tuck my knees up under my chin, burying my face into the heat and scent of you, into the shirt - your shirt - I'm wearing, trying, fighting to hold onto it just a little longer, just enough to get me home. I didn't want to leave.

I'm drunk, and you might be. My head and my emotions are in turmoil, and the words slipping from your mouth only add fuel to the fires burning wild in my thoughts. I don't know what to say, only to promise you're not scaring me. You frighten me, regardless of it all. We'd spoken of avoiding pushing too fast, but I'm afraid I've fallen, fallen. Taken a plunge into a relatively unknown darkness filtered by the too-bright headlights of an oncoming train. I fear the crash and burn, the train wreck of emotional stability that I've warred for. In the Archerontic brilliance of this emotional kaleidoscope, my thoughts seethe.