Leaning over the side of my grandfather's boat, catching the spray from the waves and watching the horizon bob before us.
Pressed tight between a bathroom door and a boy, stupid and high, counting the number of teeth in his mouth.
Burning the skin off an apple, tossing empties out into the woods, and catching fireflies while bearing my heart and soul and naivety to every human willing to describe me with a six-letter F word.
Having my skinned knee kissed better on the kitchen floor and my hair held back as I choked up nothing but rum and stomach acid.
Lingering an extra split second in the passenger seat of a certain boy's car.
Catching sight of the roadside sign welcoming me to Hudson's Hope.
Sitting up with my post-stroke pepere in his hospital bed and hearing him utter a record-breaking six-word question.
Being escorted home, comforted and hugged by two all-too-generous friends after Bridget's party.
Being interrupted mid-sentence to be told to fuck off when it was precisely what I needed to be told.
It's a very fleeting feeling, but I can fully understand why people spend their whole lives pursuing it.
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