“I think people would be happier… if they admitted things more often. In a sense we’re all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment.” Chevelle paused, his breath hitching.

“And like the moon, we must go through phases to feel full again.”

Despite his love for words, he was finding it troubling to speak at this very moment. Perhaps it was the way his sweaty clothes stuck to his chest, or maybe it was the humid air inside the tent you two were in.

The laughter of the other students could be heard from the outside as they sat still, the heat alone making Chevelle’s face feel moist. He lifted his hands briefly, wiping the sweat off of his cheeks with the back of his hands.

Summer camp. He didn’t expect it to turn out this depressing for him, depressing enough to make him confess his melancholy to a random classmate such as yourself.