"You're ugly," I say lazily. You grin and say,

"You're uglier." I lay back and try to pay attention to the movie. The man on the screen is in black and white, walking along with a single balloon with the saddest expression on his face. A tap on the shoulder, he turns to face a mime. With puppy eyes, the mime looks to the man's balloon, and sad and lonely as he is, he hands the balloon over. The mime smiles, holds it, and then his grip loosens on the string. They exchange sort of incredulous glances as the balloon drifts past the length of their hands, and then the mime grins and slaps him across the face.

He would have laughed at the scene, hooted maybe, and called the guy a sucker. You suck your breath in softly and tell me that you're probably the guy with the balloon and that life sucks.

I laugh, and your hand finds mine. Your fingers are big. Sometimes one or two of your fingernails are disgustingly dirty, but most of the time they're clean. Your veins pop out of your skin like colour on canvas, a sort of blue-green on your peach skin.

"Where are we?" You say breezily. I take a minute to interpret your question, and when I fail to, I go in the most literal sense.

"On my couch," I say slowly, uncertainly. "On my couch in my living room in this apartment. In Calgary, in Canada, on earth." Your grip tightens on my fingers and you bring them up to your face. I expect kisses on my fingertips because that's how he used to do it, but all you do is bring my knuckles to the space between your nose and your mouth. Your breath tickles but I don't pull away.

You take my other hand and pull me into your side. Your ribcage digs into mine because we are so tightly packed on this spacious couch but I don't mind. Your sweatshirt makes a comfortable surface for me to relax into. You put my fingers down but don't let go.

I look up from our fingers, where yours are so big and mine are awkward and so small compared to them. My eyes travel along your sleeve to your neck and then your face. First your mouth, with your thin lovely lips, and then to your straight long nose, to the side where your cheekbones are high and proud, and then to your eyes. Your eyes pop and I snort.

A pause, and I cover my mouth with my hand. He used to hate when I made weird sounds like that, but you just take my hand and bite my finger as punishment.

"Stop being embarrassed," you mumble into my fingertip, still nibbling. "I don't get what there is to be embarrassed about."

A long silence. I return my eyes to the movie, where suddenly the credits are now rolling. Then my gaze flickers back to you, and you're still looking at me. Brown eyes, thicker eyelashes than me, and eyebrows I can barely see under your mop of hair. Sometimes you say words that wiggle their way into the deepest part of my brain and they stay there. Sometimes, your words are meaningful and so beautiful.

I smile. Let my head fall onto your bony shoulder, and I close my eyes.

i am naive, and this is what i want some day.
i don't know how reality is, but this is a silly dream of reality. :)