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there was that invariable moment when a person realizes that they are completely and utterly hopeless. like a night that lasted forever up until the moment you held hands, when, upon that action, time simply stopped. to be so young and in love and maybe this isn't love at all. you've got university pamphlets that litter your floor; a collage of colleges. you've got half a tank of gas and half a mind to see him but no energy to drain either source. you don't miss one boy, you miss millions, even the ones you've never known. because they could have all been something to you. and you could have been good for each of them. yet, you continue to subject yourself to meaningless make-out sessions in elevators or bedrooms or the backs of cars. when you say, "kiss me somewhere new", you've never meant the backs of your knees, you meant, "kiss me somewhere where even your god can't find us." on a highway somewhere and we were along for miles and miles and miles. there are always highways in one's relationships, whether it be route 66 or the window across the yard. bittersweet seventeen and there are all these things in front of you, but suddenly miss independent is wondering what it'd be like to have someone to share it all with. you had one taste of love and you're hooked, like some alchoholic, like some zoo animal to the trough. whatever happened to your wild streak? falling in love is such a willed thing to do, like when you're a little girl and you'd jump off the roof -- if you jumped high enough, it was only natural you'd fly. only natural... don't rush it, baby girl. all these things in front of you won't wait forever and soon you'll forget these boys' names, like you've already forgotten the taste of their kisses. it seems, to me, that triviality and romance go hand in hand.