Title Track

I stare up at the ceiling, much like I do every night, eyes dry, mouth dry, limbs heavy.

When I was sixteen, I fell in love.

The first time.

The only time.

My heart beat in his chest, because he was the one and only.

I can barely remember what happened, how it happened.

I remember, “Hi, I’m Ryan.” and a slew of awkward stammering, wild hand gestures, sly smiles and innuendo.

“Brendon.”

“Senior?”

“Junior. You?”

“Senior.”

“Cool.”

It only took a few weeks for us to realize what we meant to each other. The sun was ducking down behind the horizon, the Vegas air warm and dry, surrounding us with mosquitoes and moths, we sat together on the rooftop of the nearest elementary school.

Hands bumping, knees touching, sexual tension you could cut with a knife; I leaned forward, and he leaned forward, and my heart was in my throat, and our lips were so close, and we were so close, my hand on his cheek, his on my knee, and then it happened, and I was hooked.

I often find myself wishing for a return to the before; before the after. It feels like a dream, under cover of smoke and hazy memories.

I never stopped being in love, no matter how many times I told myself that Ryan was never worth it, that I’d never see him again.

But, I did see him again. So all my walls are crumbling down, and I am so in love, I am realizing so much, and I want it all to stop.

I often find myself wishing for a return to the before; I often find myself wishing to be a kid again.