Poison Oak

I met her on the edge of First and Last, while the rain was pouring and blurring and somehow smudging the lines between Right and Wrong. Honey blonde hair hung in wet, tangled chunks across her forehead. She asked me for a smoke, reaching out with shaking fingers and hurried breaths. I said I didn't have one, and they were bad for her anyway. She said that was okay, that she wasn't scared to die. She looked up at the hazy night sky - or maybe there was just a haze around my eyes - and told me how she sometimes felt like a single-celled dot within the planes of the universe, and did I ever feel that way at night, when the Sun fell behind the clouds, washing everything in blackness and somehow illuminating the quiet things? I smiled a nervous smile and we somehow fell together that night with shaking breaths, heavy sighs, eager mouths and too much desperation.