free flow

long legged, wild haired, impossibly beautiful. youth was so delicate and lovely i wish i could cup it in my hands. but youth, like water, has the tendency of slipping through the cracks, no matter how tightly you try to hold it. you can’t grip onto something without friction. it is the way of the world; there is nothing without friction. it keeps you on the ground, it keeps you still, it keeps you moving. and friction is beautiful. especially the friction between your leg and mine, bouncing in the spaces between our fingers, rubbing up against the seams of your jeans. the loveliest friction, and indeed, the loveliest part of being young, was between you and i.