We were sitting on the rooftop and eating dinner that you just cooked, watching a hazy red sun set over hills and trees. I was afraid of climbing the ladder but you held it firmly for me and carried my plate.
We were sitting in your apartment, packing up your things. You handed me a bottle of what I thought was juice. It was a wine cooler and you laughed when I offered to share with you, because you weren't yet 21.
We were speed walking from our 8am class to the library in order to claim couches to sleep on before our next class. Those main stacks naps sustained me through college.
We were walking on the dark campus, and I sensed you were in need. I prayed while you cried. That was when I knew we were truly friends.
We stood awkwardly in my doorway, a red rose in your hand. "I know you were feeling down," you said, "but don't read into this." That rose bloomed and bloomed beautifully for a whole month.
We had planned to exercise at the beach, but instead just sat on my blanket and talked about life. It was the last sunny day we had for a while.
We were driving home at night on the bridge and it was pouring rain so violently that I could barely hear anything. You stared ahead and said, "Don't be afraid."
We were sitting on on an old frumpy couch and you introduced me to rooibos tea. I didn't know it then, but that was the longest goodbye ever.
We were sitting in the apartment during the humid summer-fall transition, just cooling down in front of my fan, wordless and lethargic.
We were sitting in your new stick shift car and you said that you hadn't stalled yet on the drive from LA. We got to a traffic light and then you stalled.
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