Five of us.

We saw mist creeping over the field, and we all stood on the edge, just staring. Our backs to the huge wooden barn, to the hung Christmas lights, to the mass of plaid shirts and shrieking young adults. She suggested running.

We did. We all ran, at once. Like fake reality where everyone knows simultaneously what-to-do. Except my lungs were bursting and my soft feet were blistering. It wasn’t perfect. [Reality’s pain and awkwardness reminds me to live here.] We stopped. 

We sat and lay down on scratchy grass. We found planets and constellations. It was quiet.

Across the field, over a thousand students milled around. The air was tainted with laughter. He said they sounded like monkeys. She said it sounded hollow. I said it sounded warm.

Surrounded by darkness, speaking of canyons and classes, donkeys and lights. It was more than good.