12.1.17 | night

this was one of the best nights,
one of the best birthdays I could've imagined.
I didn't see myself making it to nineteen years,
but with her sitting on the bed opposite me,
pouring shots carelessly, it made me realize
that I was glad I made it this far.
For a split second,
I wanted to make it even farther.
Seven shots in and I ran to the bathroom.
She followed me.
Seven was officially the limit.
She confesses to me her thoughts and feelings,
the different remnants of her past that have made her
who she is today.
People have wronged her
and I assure her
that she deserves better.
She's not drunk,
she's fine,
and maybe she only told me these things
because I was laying on my bed,
in a drunken daze,
we were one on one.
Maybe she assumed
I wouldn't remember
her fears and I wouldn't relate them to my own.
We're more alike than I think we really
realized.
I'll cherish this night forever.
Because for once,
it's her and I.
No competition,
no fighting,
no throw up on the carpet.
It's just us
and I wouldn't have it any other way.
I wish I remembered more
of that night.
Because seven shots in and I was feeling great.
Two shots more and the feeling slowly
dissipated. The intoxication wore off.
She left the room,
leaving me the large bottle
in case I wanted any more.
I decided I was done for the night.
I didn't need any more alcohol to
feel what I was feeling.