There's something in the silence of the night that smooths the edges of all that seems harsh in the day. We lie on the roof buried under sheets and the heavy summer air. His hand is intertwined with mine, his thumb idly traced the fate lines I hope he's included in. Stars hang above us, pinpricks of light murmuring of places far away from this rooftop. He doesn't interrupt them and neither do I. We exchange words through glances and touches, far past our awkward first dates with hazy conversations full of nervous pauses. The neighbors have no such qualms and voices made louder by wine coolers and reckless abandon reach our ears if only faintly enough for us to register the noise. A boy leads a girl out of the back door, and even from here we can see his nervousness. Hands smooth hair and fidget with a drink as she stares at her feet. The boy opens his mouth for a moment, before closing it once more. I know without looking over that the ghost of a smile is on his face as he recalls how he did just the same one warm summer night. He'll recall the sweaty palms and clearing of throats, of a nervous declaration he wasn't sure would be returned. An arm pulls me closer, and we watch as mystery boy discards words and kisses her.
He's really grinning now, dimples casting faint shadows. We shift under our covers and breathe in the night. Our eyes meet, and we study each other as if to learn something we don't already know. Swirling blues and greens compose a universe that feels as safe to me as my own. He closes them and his lips part as he speaks soundlessly. He's not praying, not really. I asked about this the first night we fell asleep in the grass and he told me that he was memorizing. He was memorizing the feeling of the breeze on our skin, of legs that tangled together but managed not to knot; of hearts beating in time with our breathing. He was memorizing the scent of chlorine that lingered from the pool, of ice cream and hot dogs and a weary fairground. Immortalizing them and matching them up with his universe as well as mine.
His lips stop moving and his breathing slows. I start to memorize too. I memorize the way the moonlight turns our hair silver and our skin pale. His rough palms and the angles of his cheekbones, the scar peeking out from his hairline. He grips my hand tighter for a moment. As we drift off I fall in love the way we fall asleep- slowly, then all at once, all over again.