We all hear those stories where people move, and go through the shedding process of old customs to become something new when they arrive at their destination. But as I took in my last look at the god forsaken room I called home, I wasn't so sure I could change. Hobbies, habits, emotional and moral value, I was still trapped by most of it. I held her in my arms the last day I could, wiping away every tear I found. After the first time, it was like razorblades to my soul to watch her cry. Curled on the floor, we sat and slowly thought of all we knew. It was a time, not for reflection, but to think of where to go next. The kiss was sweeter though, a mixture of adrenaline and pure joy compressed and swallowed without question. I still cant stop shaking from it. Much better then I ever remembered from anyone. I was apparently her first kiss with a boy, which in a sense brings a bit of a filthy feeling to mind. The little kitty marks on my face lightened the mood quickly. And you know, through all the shit, the tears, and the jokes. I love her. You might think I'm insecure, but I cant help but smile when I look in those eyes.