You were the last person on earth.

I had no idea something like this would happen.

All I need now is for you to torture me in my dreams.

...no, then that means I wouldn't get any work done at ALL.

~~

The annoying thing about me is that when I have revelations, they aren't the quiet little moments which I calmly reflect upon. Rather, they manifest themselves in situations like this past weekend during haus, where we were dancing, moving, and throwing our arms around in time to deafening techno beats and disorienting strobe lights, where there wasn't a lonely body to be found and cans of Red Bull littered the back area.

That night I decided to finally, finally give in to my horny whims and commit all sorts of acts with the next person who found me. True to my word, I was pressing against a random college boy within a few minutes. And as he leaned down to kiss me, my mind was racing: Which assignments did I need to complete by the following Monday? Could I wake up early enough for my Sunday oatmeal? And why was there a crick in my neck all of a sudden?

It was supposed to be all-consuming and all-satisfying. It was supposed to make me tremble all the way down to my toes. It was supposed to remind me how to be a college student. Instead all I felt was a lukewarm tongue fumble its way around the inside of my mouth, thickly sluicing my lips as I hurriedly pulled away from him. Alas, I was meant to have yet another unfulfilled night then. I should have been used to it, but apparently I had reached my limit because I abruptly felt my eyes grow hot and dry.

Determined not to care, I made my way back to my circle of friends, who barely registered my discreet return. As I swayed and rocked my hips by myself, my eyes traveled from person to person, not really seeing, not really paying attention. At last, my gaze landed on you, and that was the part where I should have (would have) turned away and focused on another point of interest. I still did not notice it then.

It was the first time I saw you out on a dancefloor. Your breasts weren't spilling out of your top because you had on a sensible white tank that showed off your shoulders and brought out the glinting metal of the various pendants hanging round your neck. You weren't gyrating and writhing on anyone either because you were too busy twirling the glowsticks in your hands, lost in some other world. And while all the girls in that arena had strands of hair stuck to their red, sweat-slicked faces, you kept your hat on and wore a secretive half-smile that wouldn't leave your lips no matter how long the party continued.

It could have been any of those things. But it wasn't. It was everything else that led up to that electrifying moment of recognition: your dark, slanted eyes, the tight, neat line of your mouth, the generous curve of your chin, those hands that draw so amazingly well, and the low, even tone of your voice... By the time I realized what had happened to me over these past several months, I was so far gone I couldn't even remember what it was that started it all.

Shit. And I still had to face you in sociology three times a week until the end of the semester.