I remember, one time, sitting on the wall watching the sunset. You were there and we were dangling our feet out over the mesa, kicking at the thorns that crawled up the adobe. I remember it was summer and we were warm, my hair trying to escape with the breeze. It seems that I'm always trying to escape with the breeze.
I remember, you told me you loved me. Up there, on that big wall. At least that's how I see it, that very first time. You told me you loved me and that I was your best friend. I laughed at you just because I didn't know what else to say. "I love you too" has never really seemed to mean much. Especially not in that moment. And I remember you told me we loved each other too much to be civil, shoving slightly at my arm. I almost fell right then.
We never sit on that wall anymore. Civility has become a crime unto itself.
