She doesn't need to be beautiful. I know that I would love her more than the stars, or god, or my family, or my dog even if she were scarred, or awkward, or overweight. But she is gorgeous. See, she is slightly taller than I am, and she has this smile as warm as the sun-soaked grass that I am lying on and pure brown eyes as a big as moons that look at me each morning like I am every good thing in the world thrown together in a human being. I am so far gone in the wild arms of love that I can't think straight anymore. The only thing to do is write about it.
First, you should know about my lips. Can I tell you, these two lips of mine have never craved other lips before. They said that they did, they sang songs and recited poems about craving other lips, but they hadn’t the slightest idea what they were talking about. It’s like all my life they were comatose, or awake but numb, until last night when she and I snuck out of the dorm and she asked me where do we go and I told her about the enormous Greek physics building on the East side of campus and how its roof is always deserted, and we took the old creaky elevator all the way to the top floor and climbed out the window. We stood on the stony roof under the clear sky and its various stars and after holding each other for a while and admiring the view and the sweet solitude, I leaned into her so that our foreheads were pressed together, our lips tantalizingly close for much too long, centuries probably. It was easy to hear our breathing, and my heart slamming itself against my chest like a maniac. I wanted her so completely that I forgot every single thing I knew about the universe because the want was swirling my thoughts around in a lovely dark pool, intense as any love as ever been. And then I felt her lips. It was so gentle at first, tentative and shy, and then progressively fiercer, until it was passionate and rhythmic. She slipped her arms wrapped around my waist and we were glued to each other, the perfect fingers of the night breeze tussling our hair as we stood there, locked together, dizzy with the taste of the other. We stopped, breathless, and she tilted her head back to look at the moon, the stars, exposing her striking, pale neck—almost florescent in the moonlight. I ran my fingers over its creases and kissed it as lightly as I could. We could not let go of the moment any more than we could let go of each other. But eventually it was late and colder. Eventually we put our mysterious little bliss back on its secret shelf and walked back to the dorm where nobody knows about our mad love, with our masks tightly fastened and our lies comfortably rehearsed.
I thought about her all day today. Papers and deadlines floated away like little black punts on a rushing river. I could not stop remembering how she is the sweetest drug, and that I will see her tonight. Someday I have to tell god thank you for the girl and the courage to love and the simple comfort in knowing that there are so many places in this world where we can be alone.