"can this be happiness? this terrifying freedom?" - albert camus

and that's how it felt that night; happy, terrifying, free. the sun had gone down hours away. you had spent most of the night chatting with james dean about things you would probably forget the moment you walked out of the fancy hollywood venue. either way, you talked on.

after dinner, after some dancing, and after dessert, you found yourself with james again. only, this time, he didn't want a small conversation. you stood in the very corner of the venue and talked about different books you two had read in recent months, films you've watched, and even articles in the newspapers. then, he asked you if you wanted to get out of there. you didn't hesitate to say no. freedom from the shackles of what was that lame hollywood event sounded almost dreamy.

now, you walked side by side on the beach, towards a small little cabin near the water. it was silent then, but not awkwardly. you felt...understood in the quiet. his pinky brushed against yours, and seconds later, his fingers slid into yours. but, he didn't look at you. you didn't look at him. you hadn't been this happy in a terrifyingly long time.