Harder To Get In Than Out, Like

I Think Whenever A Writer Is Really Enjoying Themselves And Liking What They Are Doing, That Shows On The Page.

I Wondered If He Ever Thought Of Me, And Hated The Pang I Felt When I Told Myself He Didn't.

There Was Only So Much Space Between Us, Not Even A Real Distance If Measured In Miles Or Feet Or Even Inches, All The Things That Told You How Far You'd Come Or Had Left To Go. But It Was A Big Space, If Only For Me. And As I Moved Forward To Him Covering It, He Waited There On The Other Side. It Was Only The Last Little Bit I Has To Go, But In The End, I Knew It Would Be All I Would Truly Remember. So As I Kissed Him, Bringing This Summer And Everything Else Full Circle, I Let Myself Fall, And Was Not Scared Of The Ground I Knew Would Rise Up To Meet Me.

The First Boy Was Always The Hardest.

It Was Great. Freedom Even The Imagined Kind Always Is.