And, here we sit, fingers intertwined; your right with my left; my right arm draped over your shoulder and your left arm draped over mine.
"I love you," I blurted out.
He just half-hugged me harder, saying, "No. No, you don't. Not me."
There was a pause.
"Yes. Yes, I do," I stated.
"What's love, then?"
I smiled. "It's when- when you get butterflies in your stomach just thinking about someone."
"It could mean you're scared of them," he simply said, "Like, when you're scared about a performance."
"I'm not scared of you. It's when- when you feel on top of the world, and nothing can bring you down."
He shook his head, adding, "It's from your med's, Alexandria."
"You look for them first in a room, even if you know they won't be there."
He started to pull away. "Now, that's just plain stalker-ish."
"Love is- is when you want everything perfect for them; you want everything just right."
"You're a perfectionist."
"No. No, I'm not. It's when you breathe in their smell and fell like you're home."
He paused from pulling the rest of the way away from me. "That's really what love is?" he asked, surprised.
I shook my head, "That barely hits the surface."
Now he seemed eager for me to, "Go on!"
"It's when- you're content just sitting, just listening to the vibrations of the air; you don't need words to feel comfortable. It's when kissing him, or her, for the first time (and usually thereafter) sends fireworks through your brain, like it's on overload. You can't make heads or tails of what's up and what's down."
"Is it- is it when you've got to know they're ok when they're hurting?"
"That, too," I said.
"When the person would walk off the edge of the world, it's like you'd stop breatheing?"
"No, you'd live. But every moment would be plagued by their beauty, by their voice, by their touch, by their last lingering kiss, by their scent. Well, yes, then again. It'd be like, they're no point in living because they're gone."
"Can we- can we just sit here for a while?" he asked.
"Talking? Or listening to air vibrations?"
"N-no. No talking; it's- it's not needed.
He sat back down.
And, here we sit, fingers intertwined; your right with my left; my right arm draped over your shoulder and your left arm draped over mine, purely listening to the vibrations of the air.