they reached that point last night, that point where she said, "try it," and he said, "try what?"

she wouldn't answer, just moved into him, moved into his arms, into his fingers.

"please," she said.

you take that step, this is what he thought, you take that step and it changes.

they had talked about it before, he wanted her, she was dating someone else, then dating someone else, then they were too good of a friends to mess anything up.

they would go to the creek behind his grandmother's house whenever they needed to talk. after his grandfather died, she found him, lying in the creek, water flowing around his ears, staring somewhere above him, not quite the sky.

they're there, now.

she's ready.

he's scared.

the poetry his grandfather left him was always just slightly beneath the surface when she was around. it was there, lines and stanzas, making his legs twitch in, with the urge to run.

but her eyes, her blue eyes were right there, looking up at him, locking his knees.