We sit next to each other, on the couch, on the bench outside the apartment, on the table, on the bathroom floor, on the bunk beds. As we sit, we talk about everything that doesn't matter and for a brief moment ignore anything that hurts. We laugh about failed attempts at circus tricks, the proper use of the word didactic, or how much we hate physics exams. You sit and laugh with me.
When we finish laughing, we exchange the profound advice found only in those under the age of 25. We think we are so wise. We listen to each other as though we were sages, seeking a panacea in the words that float between us.
As the conversation dies, you begin to cling to the incoherent words I spill in a final attempt to be deep and meaningful. You comment casually on how great I look today, and brush off my response. You thank me for the time I have graciously given to bestow my wisdom upon you. You laugh in disbelief at my expression of gratitude. We part with a quick hug and you whisper "You're incredible."
Please do me this one favor, believe me when I whisper back.
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