I convince you to drink because I like when you laugh. I like how it reaches your eyes before it reaches my ears. I watch the smoke hit your lungs through your deep inhale and then wait for it to catch in my own on your exhale. It’s heavy, but it smells like you, so I hold onto it. I savor it. Your eyes are tired as you turn the lighter over in your hand. My fingertips close around it and your left hand as your right tugs at my waist. My eyes avoid yours, scared of what they will find. Scared that I might not catch my breath. And for a second I wasn’t lost. For a second I held on too long. Your fingertips throwing too much pressure on my rib cage. Too much pressure on my heart. Too much pressure on my mouth and my eyes. So I hold them both sealed up tight. My eyes and my mouth, closed. Because things were too clear. And I was scared. It was a kind of clarity that would have destroyed us both. I needed your hand in my hair, and I wanted to bite down on your skin. I wanted to open my mouth and close it on your clavicle. I wanted to steal what was left in your lungs and keep it for myself. And I needed you to push just a little harder. And now it’s cloudy. But for a second your hand on my hip was blindingly clear. For a second my eyes were wide open and filled with the light from the darkness.