I can recall summers long past, spent in a camp on the mountains. The camp was on a lake, and it was almost expected that you would brave its frigid waters at least once during your stay.
Everyone knew that the best way to enter the water was through a wholehearted leap from the dock.
But even after spending the longest minute of my life working up the nerve to jump, and even when I was already in the air, with my arms and legs flailing in slow-motion, one thought would remain in my head.
The thought that maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all.
That though, and the sensation of fearful anticipation that accompanies it moments before contact with glacial waters, is always the last thing one feels before leaning in to kiss another for the very first time.
In other news, I find myself once again occupying the role of the wise, but otherwise insignificant member of custodial staff who finds himself offering well intentioned advise to the main character of everyone else's plot-line.
You have no fucking clue how much I think about you.
I just can't decide who I want you to be.
Not that it matters, my bed'll still be cold in the morning.
