Perfect

I remember this one time when we were hanging out and it was just us, in his living room, talking about absolutely nothing. 

And he was like "I wish that we could go back in time. You know, like to the sixties or something, when everyone our age was smoking weed and fighting for shit that mattered like equality. That would be great right?"

I only nodded sinking further into the couch, my cigarette hanging loosely from my lips. I didn't really give two shits about what he was talking about. It wasn't because his words didn't matter to me, because they did, I was just so happy that he was there, with me of all people in he world.

"What the fuck are you thinking about?" he asked me, lifting his arm so it was resting on the couch cushion next to me. He had been sitting on the floor leaning against his parents ridiculously priced sofa sleeper.

"Nothing," I told him. I didn't want to say that I was elated and I couldn't get this scenario of of my head. I couldn't tell him that this was all so surreal, that I couldn't believe that he liked me enough to want to hang out with me all over again. Especially after I had embarrassed  myself a few nights ago at that party I met him at.

"Honestly,"  I'd told him that night. "I never get this drunk."

He only laughed, this time and that night at the party, and shook his head. His hair fell into his face as he did so, making me want to reach forward and move it away; maybe tuck it behind his ear. I imagined it feeling like silk, and his skin being reminiscent of that of an infant.

However, before I made the mistake of overstepping my boundaries he raked his fingers through his jet black hair,  removing it from his line of vision.

"You're awfully quiet, you know that?" He asked me.

I nodded. "I get that a lot. People say it's because I'm shy."

"What do you say?"

"Me?" I asked, dumbly.

He chuckled. "Yeah, you."

I shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I'm afraid that anything that I say is going to come out sounding stupid or irrelevant. I'm afraid of the fact that I am often incapable of controlling my tongue."

He was quiet for a moment before looking back go me wig semi-serious eyes. "Well, I don't care what you do with your friends," he began. "But when we hang out, I want you to say what's on your mind. I like my conversations candid. None of that well thought out bullshit."

I smiled.

"What are you thinking about now?" he asked me, probably testing he waters.

I decided that, for once in my life, I was gonna be honest. "I was just thinking about how much I think I like you..."

I half expected him to get up and leave. Maybe tell me to get the fuck out because, honestly, did I really think I had a chance? 

But he didn't. He simply smirked and ran his fingers through his hair for the millionth time that hour. 

"I was just thinking the same thing."

They say that, in life, everyone has a moment they wish they could freeze. For some, it could be a second, an hour, a day, or maybe even a whole summer. It doesn't really matter how long or short that moment is and it doesn't matter if it has already happened or if it is still yet to come. All that is of significance is the fact that, in that moment, everything was perfect.

Mine was the moment he let me know that it was okay for me to be myself.