The feeling of youth.

I could bottle it up and sell it for millions.

When I drink from that bottle I’m back to a place I didn’t know how to fully appreciate when I was there.

That garage. That living room where we would collapse on the soft brown couches after taking shots in the kitchen.

The kitchen with holes in the walls from drunken behavior.

The drunken behavior that lead to slow kisses, silly laughter, dancing on tables, heartfelt words.

Heartfelt words that felt comfortable in the dark and that we avoided in the day.

But oh the day, When the sun would shine and we would swim in the lake and find eachother beneath the surface of the water.

Water that flowed to the streams and down the sides of mountains, offering a place to drink as we drove through the forest with the top down on your jeep.

The jeep where lovers crammed one too many into the back. But I held your hand and my head rested on your shoulder. The wind blew through my hair

and I felt sense of freedom I have never known.

My fingers traced your palms like they traced ancient carvings on the cave walls.

The cave walls that shielded us as the rain fell and the sun set.

We made our way down the mountain, back to the house, wild, free and slipping in the rain and the dark.

And now we are back to the dark. With slow kisses and heartfelt words.

And all my youth had been leading up to these moments.

And all my youth ended in these moments.