A month or so ago, I spent the night with Sam. He picked me up around 7:30 that evening and we went to Bonsai for dinner. I was nervous. I could tell her was too. But it was the good kind of nervous, the kind of nervous where I couldn't look him in the eyes for too long of a period of time because I liked him too much. It was the overwhelming kind of nervous. We ate. We paid. We left. We sat in the parking lot and listened to Jeff Buckley. He inched closer and closer to my face as we talked and listened to music for what seemed like forever. He kissed me. One year later, and he kisses me. A kiss that was long overdue. We decided to drive aimlessly. We drove and talked. That's something we were always good at, talking. A hundred hours passed and we were at Grady's house for a party. We walked through the rooms of his house and he kissed me in every other room. A few hours later after, he gets up and walks away because he's tired. I follow him. I rub his head. That feels really good, and he laughed. We kissed. I was tired. He wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my shoulders until I fell asleep. And I thought What a heavenly way to die. The Smiths were right. That was the first and the last.