As the bedroom doors closed, it was like a flashback. A moment that was so familiar that they both denied it of difference. They thudded to the bed, never parting, but they should have. They should have stepped away, but unconsciously, they gripped to the moment of weakness they knew they could never have again.

/

Suddenly, it feels like you've gone back in time and everything is as it should be. There are the same instincts you've grown accustomed to and the same part of the bed-frame you grab. You get lost in the sameness.

His breaths are the same, and it's like you've turned off the part of your brain which differs him then, from him now. You enjoy the feeling of the rhythm between your bodies, the one only the two of you had.

It feels so familiar that you deny it of being different.

You hate the person you love as much as you love him. You think of a shooting star, the same one you drew on his arm when you were on the long bus ride. You think of any wish you could ever wish for, but nothing comes to mind, because he has completely consumed every part of you.

He is warm, and you are cold. And your bodies completely differ to both of your hearts.

You were once a pretty yellow, and he was a green. Together, you made a blue, and that's exactly how you both felt, but in that moment, you forgot about it.

Because it was familiar. It was something neither of you felt in a damn long time, and you gripped onto him, and he gripped onto you, and you wished the magic of oblivion would roll upon you and last for a while.

You think of any kind of drug that could measure up to him, and he thinks of why this is happening. Of why he is drawn to you as much as you are drawn to him. Because magnets have two sides. One repels, the other attracts. And you cannot be magnets. But you are. You are.

Memories filter through your heart and play behind your eyes. It feels right to hold onto him because in the past, you thought you'd never have to let go. You hand fit in his, but in the moment, your separated hands are the point your eyes rest upon.

You feel both connected and detached, and you hate the feeling. You hate drinking. And you hate the kind of broken careless you became. You hate that you love him. At least, you think you do.

So you make yourself think that this is right. And that voice in your head shuts up. And it shouldn't have.