We're writing about relationships in my Creative NonFiction class. We had to pick the one that meant the most to us, and I chose to write about Tom. So I started writing. And I never really stopped. I mean, I ended the scene when I had to, when it felt right to end, but I'm still writing it all down in my head, scribbling furiously with flashbacks and ever-racing thoughts. The highlight, I'd have to say, is here: "...but my vision is cluttered by faint inebriation - a mixture of Pimm's and carbonated lemonade and the way a boy can make you feel when the sun is setting." I write my best when I write about him, but I want to collapse when I'm done. And this is how it works.