He coaxes me slowly, gently, whilst not really coaxing me, into taking a spontaneous trip out. I held off, lingered for days on end, till the weekend came and I decided to jump headlong arms outstreched into the dark blue promise of romancing life.

So I drive, with him beside me. Going faster than I am used to, talking less than we are accustomed to. He does not hold my hand, barely glances at me as we talk about mundane things and mundane life.

We reach the beach. The glorious beach, an hour and a half before we had planned even after our morning breakfast detour. I stare at the ocean and think of Silverwolf. Of her missing the roar of the ocean and the blue blue sky. I think of her whilst I am living in the moment, and appreciate it more whilst she lives he colorful life away in the city of a thousand lights and a million sounds.

We walk the beach together. Him and I. We draw silly signs into the sand with our toes. He holds my hand only to kick my feet out from under me and watch me gasp for air. He runs far away to avoid receiving the same fate though my bony arms are not a match for his bony arms.

We take a nap together. His fingers intertwined in mine. His legs wrapping around me. His face dangerously close to my neck.

He surfs. I tan.

We get drinks later in the night. He matches me one for one. And I am a bit heady as we head out.

We walk on the beach in the middle of the night. He holds my hand as we kick sand up. He hugs me close as we stare up into the sky.

"people say... every ten minutes there's a shooting star. Maybe if we look long enough we'll see one"
"I think it averages out over time. I dont think it will happen in one spot only"

His arms envelope my body. He nuzzles me. I am too drunk to care that we are precariously balanced between friends and non. Or I am simply too tired to care about it.

I hold on to him as we watch two people in front of us hold hands. They walk when we walk and stop when we stop. I stare at him and whisper... "why are they following us" before we realize our shadows had blown out of proportion and stalked us away.

"Aren't we the cutest couple" he mentions casually into the night. I laugh and say something crude and ruin our mood.

We walk back and I curl into bed. His warm body next to me. He curls me in. Breathes me. He hugs me, and closes his eyes. In between slumber and semi-drunken awakeness he whispers to me that he'll be sleeping in the other bed. I say ok and he crawls out.

I sleep fitfully well with a little empty space on my right.

He comes back in the morning. When the sun paraded into our little dinky room. He comes back and his hands slip over my stomach. His fingers languishly drawing over my palm.

He strokes my hair slowly.

How utterly utterly cheesy do u feel? Do I feel?

We wake up. He surfs. I work.

He comes back and we are back to being friends. Sitting on our porch, my legs on his, watching the rain pour down on the sea. I think of how old I have become, how accustomed I had become. To him. To us.

I drive us back, zipping along while he sleeps in the seat next to mine.

He is the wrong man. At the right time. And I have to keep him far before I fall all over myself again.

In the end, I end up missing my Taboo even more...