One

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You opened the door and my breath hitched. My heart stuttered like nervous steps leading up to a hurdle. 

This is just a hurdle.
Just breathe.
Just jump.
Get over it.

So I jumped and looked into those eyes tsunami eyes of yours.

"I am not touched by the storm" is what my mind told my heart as it cried out that it was drowning.

I spoke my first words and they came out clear and light like the weight of possibilities weren't dragging them under.

"Don't be difficult, don't ask questions, and be nice about my driving."

I shifted into gear and drove like I was just another girl and you were just another boy with your feet on my dash.

We parked above the skyline and watched the artificial stars gleam at us. They blinked and shined proudly as if to say "we are the everlasting burning that fills this faulty Galaxy." At least they wouldn't burn out. 

God this is the worst idea I've ever had, but if my coaches taught me anything it was that you run through the finish line. 

I handed you my orange notebook. It was small, one of my favorites. I buy notebooks on impulse. I have so many sizes and shapes and colors scattered around my life...most of them empty. Maybe it was a writer thing. Maybe it's just a me thing.

I labeled the top of the first page "best day, worst day" and handed it to you to fill in.

You wrote the same five words twice "the day I met you." My breath caught and my mind repeated to my heart "I am not touched by the storm." So I laughed. Could you tell it wasn't real? And handed you back the notebook and insisted you be serious. You wrote your new response as I read about the day where I first realized the ocean in your eyes.

Then I started driving.

One.

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