It's clear we wouldn't last the year. but taken from an outsiders perspective. young love was tragic love and we were all kinds of that. young. tragic. ghostly.
I stared at her from across the class-room. the only class we had together. Marine biology. Fish swimming in the salty sea. some such nonsense like tides, rip currents, aquaculture. my sperm still trying to swim inside her from late Saturday night. Jelly-fish slow and drifting. poison. slow and drifting.
I turned in slightly above average grades. She was good at math, a quality i found sexually attractive. that and knee socks. that and her love for sad dreamy music. that and the fact she'd have me any way i wanted.
I sat and thought about my future. but couldn't see past the tip of my pen. graduation in 5 months. slightly above average grades. no real effort. no going above and beyond. mild obsessions distract me to easily. like music, like death, like the girl across the room.
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