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To Be Fifteen Again

Karie rolled over in bed, the sheets twisting themselves around her, clutching at her like a boa constrictor engaged with its prey. She grunted, kicking, struggling to extract herself from their grip. The covers vanquished, she lay on the bare mattress, wishing she could slay the demons of her thoughts as easily.

It had been a month since she'd seen him. Only a month, and she could feel the misery of their breakup still writhing in the pit of her stomach. The longing for him was suffocating. She felt it from the tip of her head, which was throbbing, to the tips of her toes, which ached to run to him.

With a loud breathy sigh, Karie sat up and opened the window by her bed. A cool Autumn breeze rushed in; a welcome visitor to the room, which seemed stuffy, the air stagnant. She lay back down across the bed, her arms folded on the sill, her chin resting on the cushion of her arms.

How many nights had she lain, just like this, waiting for him to come strolling up, a wicked grin on his face as he prepared to crawl through her window? How often had she closed her eyes and imagined his scent, a mixture of Zest and cologne, wafting through the air?

Countless nights. Thousands, it seemed. Millions, maybe more.

Tears formed in her eyes, flooding the scene before her: a darkened, deserted street where he would no longer walk. The streetlights turned to stars, glittering, glowing, vaguely defined orbs. She scrubbed her face with her hands, tears leaving sticky residue on her cheeks. What good would it do to cry? she thought. It was over, he didn't love her, she couldn't have him back.

She knew the words were probably true, but to her young and hopeful heart, it was an impossibility.

They had been so good, had seemed so perfect for each other. And it certainly wasn't a lack of love on her part that had led the relationship to ruin. She loved him so much it felt her heart would burst, would erupt like a volcano, spewing forth romanticism, adoration, devotion, all over the place.

As far as his love for her, didn't he say it all the time? His eyes practically glowed when he saw her (except when they were fighting - then they burned), when his arms wrapped around her, the tightness of his embrace spoke volumes. The way he kissed her. . .

No, she couldn't think of that, she'd go mad thinking of his kisses. His lips soft, yet strong, almost forceful. Like he couldn't ever kiss her enough.

"Enough," she whispered frantically, her eyelids squeezed shut against the onslaught

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