This was what I liked most about my friends: just sitting around and telling stories. Window stories and mirror stories. I only listened–the stories on my mind weren’t that funny.
I couldn’t help but think about school and everything else ending. I liked standing just outside the couches and watching them–it was a kind of sad I didn’t mind, and so I just listened, letting all the happiness and the sadness of this ending swirl around in me, each sharpening the other. For the longest time, it felt kind of like my chest was cracking open, but not precisely in an unpleasant way.