I Collect Hotel Cards

Every moment with you feels right.

But this moment was perfect. 

You were in my car. Our legs were dangling like streamers over the asphalt that had just tasted summer.

Your eyes were brown and they took nervous looks at mine, like you were scared I would notice. 

I noticed.

My thigh was up against yours and I kept looking down and being both frightened and lucid with joy.

I don't know if you noticed.

I talked rapidly and flirtatiously, using any and all tactics I knew of to get your attention. You laughed and we kept talking. 

It was about doughnut burgers. 

You had been boating or something along those lines. Your hair was messy, but in a nice way. You were begging for trouble, Looking so unpretentious and innocent, like you had no idea you're gorgeous. 

I still don't think you know how devastatingly handsome you are.

I was in a tex-mex t-shirt that said "You wanna taco bout it?" and ripped denim shorts. They weren't pre-ripped.

The song "Island in the Sun" by Weezer was playing. It happens to be my favorite. 

And In exactly that moment we just were. 

That's all there was.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

We were.

Then the car stopped and we kicked off to the ground.