At the most I'll be his sidekick for a few semesters,
crunching leaves as I walk back to his apartment, where I'll take a nap while he studies ancient philosophies, waiting for his reappearance. We'll get ****** and bicker over where to go for lunch, even though we know it'll end up being sushi (it always is).

At the least I'll be the girl he's talking about ten years from now, when explaining his firsthand experience with the deadly combination of a pretty face and a sad, sad soul. The reason he knows anyone can sink deep into that hole and he will never again judge a book by its cover, because of me.