He was the god of high school, most girls knew his type, the seductive heartbreaker, many people knew what his addiction was back then. The other girls would whisper about it in those days, they knew him in a way I could never. He didn't look at me like that, he seen only the child he grew up with. The girl who had painted snowflakes delicately over his heart that had staple in it from his birth in the great blizzard. He had left my life so many years ago, it was hard to let go of him. He was the adictive type of person, you always wanted more, even if it left you broken without. Now he came back to my life, when I thought I was over him. Bringing a second bike with him, for me. I left without hesitating, scared his heart would melt if he stayed inside I dove into the cold spring night to join him. The roads were illuminated by the full moon, the dead trees made the scene seem like a gothic novel. We went to the gas station, it was closed by then. I knew why he wanted to be there, for as well as being addicting, he was an easily addicted person hopping from one vice to another. There was another store a few miles down the road, I lead him fearlessly only close to the second store did I realize there was a closer gas station. But I didn't care, it felt like I was flying in the veiw of the high school god. He went in the store, we both were old enough to, but he a year older to it than me bought them. I didn't take being so very chastiful and scared. He didn't seem to care, he offered me a drink asking if I was allergic. I read it, and I was still I drank some and passed it back. I don't remember much of what we talked about outside of the store, only his odd gagging that was him suppressing a cough. Then we were on the bike again, riding in the cold wind together. He would put both legs one one side. I would rest my hands behind my head and steer with one knee on the bike. I wondered if this was something more after the years bouncing between being missing and being close enough to almost kiss. But I ended up only sitting in my desk chair and him on my bed indulging his addiction, and I was indulging my own. And we just stayed like that with little small talk, and I: the author with nothing to say and nowhere to go. No story to give. And then he had to leave. The snowflake that melted under so many other's fingers was always just out of my grass.
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