He said it was a bad idea, but I didn’t listen.

Actually, he said it in such a hushed tone that maybe I didn’t hear it loud enough to believe him. I mean, he practically whispered that it was a bad idea, and neither one of us seemed to listen.

     Whether he shouted it our barely mouthed it with his lips, he was right; it was a bad idea. We were a bad idea. We are a bad idea. Him and I don’t make sense, you see. But that doesn’t stop the feelings from lingering in my chest, and I hope that he still gets the same feeling. It doesn’t get rid of the taste of his lips on mine, and I hope his tongue still feels the aftertaste of me sometimes. It doesn’t stop the nostalgia from rushing through my veins every so often, and I hope his blood is made of nostalgia, too.

     It was a bad idea, a terrible idea, even, to entertain the thought of us for those moments. But, I can’t lie, they were beautiful moments. They were messy, but beautiful. And I wouldn’t take them back. Sure it’s practically engraved into my brain (and some of it must have leaked into my heart because my chest tightens when I think of it) and things are uncomfortable now, but that will change. We will find ourselves again and maybe in the future we will both be less afraid. Maybe in the future, I won’t draw away and unwrap your arms from around me and tangle our fingers together instead. Maybe in the future, you won’t kiss another girl in the backseat of your car just days later. Maybe in the future, we won’t be afraid of each other and the confused, almost childlike feelings that we get when we’re together. Maybe in the future, we can work.

     But like he said, maybe it’s a bad idea. Because, well, who mixes fire with ice and believes that something good can come from it?