I'm slightly intoxicated at this moment. Enough so to post some snippets about boys I've loved/love.

Caroused by a curious nature that I’ll never escape from, I wonder about your actions and will continue to do so every day. Not out of longing, or regret, or pity.
Dear, it’s apparent that you mistrust me and maybe that’s a natural reaction. Perhaps I’m just an unreliable narrator in my own life. But this much I know:
You made me a flustered, giddy, lovely mess for more than a pin point moment and I will always adore you for adoring me so solidly.
I hope you knew me. But, more importantly, I hope you know you.
And, may I ask, is it so bad to Float?

A Margarita Sun
A man has his thumb in the distillery at the moment that we douse our blood-brain barriers.
Things had been simmering all weekend and now we sit in a corner booth, laughing too loudly.
Ice cubes litter the table and your ex-girlfriend’s mom, whom you still consider family, orders another round of salt-lined glasses.
“I’m impressed,” she comments as I sip my fourth margarita. You rub my knee under the table and we both wonder how distant your bedroom is.
Someone orders another pitcher.
We all make it a game of soaking our hearts.