sjsprWriting

They were sitting outside, on the roof of his apartment, the same rooftop where they had spent so many other nights. They were sitting, with their legs side by side and their backs against each end of the sofa; until she aligned herself with him, and laid her head on his chest.

“This isn’t right,” she whispered, even though she had been the one who decided to move in closer.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this, us, you and me, right now.”

“Don’t tell me it doesn’t feel right.”

"No that’s not what I’m saying."

“Well…”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“Well that it’s one thing for something to feel right and another for something to be right. And in this case, right now, I mean that it’s not right.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t feel right. Cause that’s what it feels like to me, and you know what I think? I think that if that’s how I feel, if that’s how we both feel, then why would we ever want to let go?”