I close my eyes and my senses are flooded.  I’m in the studio again with you that night, an idea of what is about to happen floating around in my head.  Our words flow freely, the result of one too many games of beer pong.  I find you a refreshing change of pace, strange and new and different.  And forbidden.  You find me an unlikely source of inspiration.  You write something that I say on your white board of lyrics.  “Be Discovered…”  I watch you cap the pen and I wonder faintly whether or not there is a double meaning to that phrase.

I’m in your room with the Blink-182 posters and the mirror as long as the wall, and the three acoustic guitars that were our excuse for coming in here.  I sit on your bed and look around, surprised at how neat you are.  You’re playing me something and I’m attempting to play along.  It strikes me how similar this moment is to the last one I wrote about like this.  It’s not long before you’re dimming the lights and my thoughts are spinning but at the same time my head is perfectly, extraordinarily clear and I know exactly where I am and what I’m doing and why I’m letting it happen.  I hold a desire for you that came out of nowhere, or out of being really good at drinking games, and pretty soon it is skin against skin in the darkness and it thrills me.  An electric shock is running through my body.  Your silhouette against the wall as the lamplight outside shimmers through the curtains - the laughter and voices out in the kitchen of the party that sealed our fate - our whispered words getting lost in the midst of the passion -

You remind me of something that I can’t put my finger on, you and everything you stand for, so I think of you all the time in order to figure it out.  I wonder how long it will take me.