Confessions on a Dancefloor

Look.

I like the way you ask about the "essentials" in my bag - cherry candy, eyeliner, cigarettes, and a ridiculously large lollipop. I like the way you reach back for my leg in the middle of an especially boring TPE class just to wake me up and make me laugh. I like the way you parade around our hotel room wearing nothing but a slightly wet towel. I like the way you picked up that tiny ant with your clumsily large fingers and placed it on my arm while I shrieked and cringed and tried to hold still. I like the way you laugh about my vintage "Alice in Wonderland" shirt and cropped denim shorts and the fact that I rarely ever wear a bra with them. I like the way you reach into your back pocket for your wallet to pay for my JDs. I like the way you flash your headlights twice when you pick me up at night. I like how you give me a hungry once-over when I walk up to you in the morning with the wind blowing my flushed face awake. I like the way you reach for the back of my head and twine your fingers with my hair to pull my face close to yours when you greet me. I like the way you smile - twisted and deranged like that Arctic Monkeys song you've never even heard. I like the way you laugh at my impossibly childish doodles in class. I like the way you move your wide shoulders to the beat of every song and the way your body feels agains mine when we dance together under the black lights. I like the way you stared at me as if you were the one soul on this earth who got me - only to find out you were only staring because my dress was (quote) "un-not-stare-able". I like the way you make fun of my quirks and I even like the way you laugh when you know you're pissing me off.

But "Ray", my friend, that doesn't mean I'm in love with you. Get over the "boyfriend" questions because that subject is so far off of my mind it's ridiculous. It is. You'll laugh at me when you get it. And you know I'll like the way you laugh, so let's just leave it at that.

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