I told you that afternoon that I didn't feel like going out. You threw my keys with the rubix cube keychain at me anyways. But that's what we always did, lying on the couch in your basement; I'd say something about going out to eat or doing something different for us and you'd suggest we go for a drive. I didn't mind, really, but I always acted like I did. I liked driving with you and you'd put your bare feet on the dashboard and change the radios. You'd flick through them for half an hour and then eventually put on the latest mix CD you had made for us. You would always make fun of my taste in music and I'd mock yours but we actually had similar taste in music.

That day your toenails were painted dark red and as you eased your feet out of the green flats you always wore, you called my shirt "gaylord" or some other equally ridiculous diss. I rolled my eyes at you and turned on the car, the engine making that wheezy coughing sound it always did. As i rode the car around the streets of our neighborhood, you told me about your day. Apparently, the bitchy girl who sat behind you had been wearing a ridiculous outfit and your ancient biology teacher had told yet another lame joke. As you told the stories, you imitated their voices and you gestured with your hands, making me laugh. Ah, you could always make me laugh like no one else could.

Eventually, we stopped at that empty fast food place we always went to. You sat in the car waiting while I went and bought two milkshakes (strawberry for me, chocolate fudge for you) and large fries for us to share. When I walked back to the car, you were sitting barefoot on the trunk, your feet poking out of your torn jeans and your eyes were closed as you soaked up the sun.

"Hey silly," I called. You smiled at me in your lazy way but kept your eyes closed. I stood there for a second, watching as the sun rays made your dark hair look shinier than usual and at the constellations of freckles spread across your cheeks. My god, you were beautiful. You are beautiful, but I guess that was just the day I finally realized how fucking stunning you were. I guess that's pretty stupid of me, after being your bestfriend for almost six years. But sitting on top of my car with your heart shaped glasses resting on your head and bracelets covering your skinny arms and your tattoo showing slightly at the hem of your shirt, you were perfect.

You had left the radio turned on so the music slowly wafted over where we were. It was your latest favorite and you started humming absent-mindedly. I couldn't take it anymore. I put my hands on your perfect face and pulled you close to me. You opened your eyes and you made your typical "what the fuck, man?" face but then smiled and you kissed me. When we finally stopped kissing, you looked up at me and grinned.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to do that!" you exclamed, poking my stomach.

-

I haven't written in a while and I'm in love so everything I write is sappy and romantic.

Meh.