Juice Packets Pt. 2

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If he wasn't in class, he was highlighting his precious notes. He'd sit there and study while I read another fiction book or wrote another novel I wasn't planning on finishing. He couldn't stand it when our thighs weren't touching; he always moved closer when I strayed.

If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't be taking any breaks. And every time I took him to the cafeteria, he would carefully count his money in his palm and make sure he didn't exceed his budget. His mother was a doctor and his father, a businessman. His family wasn't pinching pennies but he always was. Except when I ran short. Only then would he open his wallet, the leather squeaking from under-use. It was as if I was part of his allotment.

I felt as though if you asked him, he could write an astoundingly accurate biography on me. I always talked about myself and how I got to be who I am now, and he always listened.

And Collin always talked about his dreams. His future shone as bright as his eyes did when he talked about it. It was so endearing I started creating my own ambitions. Up until I met him, it never occurred to me to put so much thought into the future.

"I love you," he told me.

My heart skipped a beat but my mind knew better. I had hoped he did, too. Couldn't he see it? He was always in the future and I was always in the past--we would never be at the same place long enough to love each other properly.

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