The door wouldn't lock.

And suddenly, I'm fucking 14 again. That really cool, more experienced and confident girl at the party picks me out. Sure, I'm funny and have a sharp wit, and I say what I mean and don't pull any punches about it. Right now, where I'm sitting in this illuminated room with a cool breeze coming in through the window, yeah - I'm fucking 28 folks. I've lived, I've cried, I've laughed - I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two - I've loved, and boy oh boy have I felt the embrace of a woman. So why do I suddenly feel like I'm 14?

Those beautiful eyes and passionate kiss.

Fuck me. Not in the, actually fuck me way, no this is a much bigger and complex issue. Well, maybe it is that issue because the middle of the story is the non-complex version of the story: the fuck me part.

How is it that there is nothing more intimidating than a beautiful, hilarious, intelligent, and brutally honest woman who wants me to drive her home because she's too drunk?? Why is it that I feel like an ass for being the person I know I am?

The road makes fools of us all. And here I am, sleeping alone in a big, empty bed. Dreaming of things that may never happen. Hoping for a tomorrow full of passion, vibrance and hope; thinking that it may all be a sick joke. Here I am, embracing that joke. Here I am, hoping that the joke ends up, just this once, with some unexpected and brilliant punchline; not the same old, unimaginative one dreamt up a long time ago by a person we'll never know. Here I am, waiting - not indignant or naively - for a joke that brings ruin to all we know and starts a whole new world. Words are supposed have power - and if they ever really have, then they should right fucking now.