music seeps around her;
a memory unfurls itself, the edges
yellowing and the fold lines getting thicker
and thicker but she can still see
the main purpose of it- the two teens
standing on a street in the middle of
nowhere, the stars glowing around around
them as the streetlights flicker ever-so-slightly
and she's thinking i could kiss this boy, right here, right now,
but she has no idea that he's thinking
i want to kiss this girl, right here, right now,
and so they do not kiss. instead they smile at
eachother and he asks if she's heard a certain song.
of course she has, music is her life. he sings it to her,
and the song suddenly seems so much more
beautiful and heartfelt than its original top-40 self.
they smile and they laugh and soon,
soon the sun is rising again.
soon the night is over, the courage and flirtatiousness
the night carries with itself are fading away.
she returns home; her summer trip is over.
(the first thing she does is to find the live, acoustic version
of the song- it's as close to his rendition as she can get
.)

two years later, on any kind of day at all -
her happiest, her saddest, her most lonely, her most loved,
she will play that song, and lose herself in the memory.
for in her world, there is no moment in her life more perfect
than that summer night, where she encountered her greatest
what-if.


AN: this is a long one. i went from not writing at all to writing a lot in two days.
and i seem to enjoy talking about myself in third person.

                                        tristan, tristan, tristan. i miss you.