The excitement that radiated from the sweaty skin of every single person in the vicinity was palpable, tinging the air with electricity. Laughter and loud chattering pervaded the crisp, summer air, and every few minutes or so an influx of people would arrive in large groups, making it quite difficult to move around. People pushed past each other to get to the front of the stage, holding up red plastic cups of their chosen type of poison, or gripping the hands of lovers they couldn’t bear to let go of. It was a night that would precede many others, but it was the night that my unreliable memory would fight the hardest not to forget.
As the band approached the stage and the opening lines of Hands Down was being sung, a crescendo of hollering and wolf-whistling and cheers emanated from the whole crowd. I looked up at the boy standing by my side, his hair ruffled and his eyes already slightly unfocused. He grinned at me as he searched for my left hand and squeezed it, brought his lips to my ear and slurred,
“All the stars conspired to bring us here tonight.”And when Chris Carrabba sang the chorus and everyone was singing along, I believed him. I believed him. You could feel all our hearts pounding in perfect synchronization to the drums.
Seventeen and studying Psychology. I like books, coffee, lyricism, magic hour, (in)signifcant moments, free-verse poetry, mental disorders, female anatomy, pretty smiles, late night conversations, and the time it takes for two people to transcend the boundary between strangers and friends.
I keep sadness at bay by constantly falling in love with the little things in life. My name is Anna and this is where I try to write.
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