It was as if I've never felt the sensation of twilight before.

As my limbs carried myself weightlessly across the room, my eyes glanced forward to the boy against the window. The curve of his jaw cast a shadow upon the torn wallpaper.

Before I took the opportunity to ask him what he was looking at, he turned his luminescent eyes towards the door, towards his feet and smiled gracefully.

We fumbled against the footing of bed and fell into the unmade sheets. He pushed his face into my chest and then raised his head towards me. He looked at me with such compassion that I can still feel the tight grip of my skin beneath him that evening.

It wasn't until the next morning, my arms dripped with the remnants of last night's sub-blanket excursion, that I realized the dramatic irony of the situation.

For the first time that I have ever felt spiritually free, I am emotionally, and physically, bound to someone else. The independence that I once craved still lingers, but the desire has unconsciously drifted since I met *him.