Are you the now or never kind? I know I’m the now kind. I make mistakes, I succumb to what seems pleasurable at the moment. You know the type: I’m a hedonist. I am complicated and confusing and I could/probably should apologize for it. But I won’t. I can’t apologize for what fundamentally makes me.

I wouldn’t pin you as a hedonist. I’d pin you as a horny college boy.

It’s just my luck that the guy who took my virginity from me, (mainly because I wanted it to go, because it was a deep burden that left me in constant fear, and also because you liked politics, and because a shooting star graced the sky, and I’m sure those few beers contributed, and because I believe in fate and something more, and I believe in the moment and in sloppy mistakes); it’s just my luck that you would happen to end up in a class with me. I mean, typically one-night stands are just that, one night, and then that night disappears into the succession of days and nights and becomes a story and a joke. But not for me. And that one night turned into another night, albeit a couple months later.

Not really by choice. But you know, that’s what happens when it’s me. We would happen to run into each other late that Friday night, and yet again we’d drink a few beers, and flirting was just too much fun, as was kissing but I was scared, not because of what would ensue, but because the last thing I wanted was this reputation of being a slut. You know the story- I may have accidentally done stuff with the guy who sits in the second to last row, who you seem to know. No, we didn’t have sex, not like it matters because you’re the one who’s had sex with like eight people, and I’ve slept with two. Not to mention you’re a couple years older and I’m just a freshman.

So I couldn’t decide on how far I wanted to go that night. I’m a girl. I’m me. I get confused. I was buzzed or drunk or who even knows? I couldn’t separate wanting from shoulding but I knew I shouldn’t. And somehow I had to draw that line not at where I wanted to but where I should have… and I can never make up my mind about anything and I’m not a guy where I can fully separate sex with emotions… emotions are present no matter what for me. The best part is I’m still thinking about this and you’ve probably forgotten or at the least decided never to go for me again because I’m confusing and frustrating. I mean, we did hook up in your living room.

And yes, the next night I danced with and kissed some random guy at whatever frat house it was. Do you even know about that? Well, I’m telling you now. I don’t even know if you care. I heard you did a line or two of coke in the bathroom anyways. But you smiled at me and lent me your sweatshirt as we sat waiting for a ride (why were we going to the same place?) And you touched my lower back. I think you’re just an obnoxious flirt. Hell, I’m an obnoxious flirt. I’m listening to the song we had sex to. Shit, why do I remember this? There’s no way you remember. I don’t really blame you because it really wasn’t going to be one of those things that needed to be remembered for you. But I guess I kind of ruined that by showing up that second week of class (in some ways I wish that teacher never let me in). This would be so easy if we were just different and whatever and who gives a fuck? But no, it’s hard because although I know it would never amount to any relationship, I know that it’s more than a one-night stand. Or that it could be more if we wanted to make it more.

That boy walked me back — I’m sure you don’t care because I’m sure I was just that girl you kissed and who frustrated you the night before, the freshman. I ended up smoking hookah with some hippie types. We sat around, we laughed, we connected over Grateful Dead music, we were saddened by the state of our environment, and I was happy. They loved my tie-dyed dancing bears shirt. They loved me. I loved them, because I was happy.

We’re done. Right? We never were, I guess would be the appropriate thing to say. But just so you know, “Elias”. By Dispatch. That’s the song you popped my cherry to.