Buzz. Buzz. Do you hear it? Buzz.
It's right before, before the excitement, the pre-jubilation; pre-togetherness.

We were standing over there, the three of us, before everything occurred. Hugs were sprinkled like soft dew at morning.
And then they said it, the thing that made oceans collide, mountains crumble, and volcanoes erupt:
"You know their eyebrows are green in the light, right?"
Everything   stops. Eyes    widen. Mouths   gape   open.
Their eyebrows were IN FACT green in the light. They were like little lines of moss stapled to her forehead; like blades of grass stitched above their eyes. And that ****** expression: strangely malicious.
II. "Max, your sweater is an ocean. Look at it." Eyes are glued, almost magnetically, to their chest. I saw little boats floating around on the soft texture of your sweater, Max. They said something about doing the backstroke in the ocean that you wear.
I imagine hugging you, then drowning in your Sweater Ocean, Max.

We smiled at these tiny wonders that Little Ol' I had discovered. We were pretty happy with ourselves, and the show hadn't even started yet.

**~~a.s.f.