No really, I'm okay. I'm also a great liar.

pushing my best friend down the path of cross-dressing

And become familiar with them I do.

Cut to a month later, where it was such a nice night that Annabelle yanked me off my armchair onto the floor, then threw my shoes at me.

"C'mon, Hazel Ava. We're going for a walk."

"At," I pause to check the canary yellow clock on the wall, "10 P.M.?"

"Yes!" she says, pulling me to my feet and pecking my nose, then twirling me around. "Let's go walk underneath the streetlights and drink coffee too late and have ice cream and explore the little things, Hazel. I want to take pictures of you and hang them on our wall. I want to feel your heartlines and enjoy this life with the person who is my life."

She twirls the ends of my flowy scarf and pulls me back into her embrace, where she wraps her thin arms around my waist like she'll never let me go and rests her chin on top of my head. I'm enveloped with safety and warmth, and feel my muscles relax against her.

The moon has lit up the clouds covering it, making them silvery and transparent.

Maybe I've got love on the mind, but I just look at Annabelle and remember when I first met her, when she was this unattainable blogger I'd never even met, but somehow reminded me that I was valid and worth something; or when she was this soft beauty sitting in the seat next to me in English and scrawling in maroon pen.

And now look at us.

Here she is, right now, with the golden glow of the streetlights shining on her smile, which is for me and me alone to witness.

There she was, just this morning, stumbling out of our bedroom sporting only a lazy T-shirt and planting a sleepy kiss to the nape of my neck.

Here we are, young and laughing and in love. I never want this feeling to end.

She spills a bit of her coffee on the pavement as I stand on the very tips of my toes and kiss her temple.

Annabelle lifts her Polaroid and snaps a picture of me, which I hadn't been expecting. I know there's almost no chance she'll not keep it, but I still demand to see it once it's developed.

Her hair's down and swinging about her face, and her ripped jeans show off her chocolate skin. I can see the freckles on her shoulders and across her collarbones.

And, later, when we're looking at all the pictures we took, I can see the love in her eyes.

"You have soft clothes, Annabelle Lev-Damore," I say, as she gets dressed to go out. She's in this leaf-patterned bomber jacket that's made of some of the silkiest fabric I've ever felt, and I touch it constantly whenever she wears it.

"I also have a soft girlfriend," she says, straightening up after tying her shoelaces and poking my cheek. "How'd I get so lucky?" Hey eyes flit between my own, and then crinkle as she beams at me.

The feeling I get in my chest as I see that I can make her happy is incredible. It feels as if I could float away right now, and I'd survive in space just feeding on my own feeling.

Jacob and Jenna come over to visit, bearing an arrangement made by the florist himself.

It's daisies and orchids and sunflowers: our favorite flowers. Though I never seem to recall divulging such information, I've probably talked about everything I can get my mind on. It makes sense my two best friends would know what flowers were my favorites.

They spend the day with us, and then the night.

In the morning, I'm not the first one up. Jacob is, and he's humming to himself, looking comfortable as ever in Annabelle's pink pajama pants.

"Pink's a wonderful color on you," I say, alerting my best friend to my presence. He jumps a little, then turns around, running a hand through his dark, messy bedhead and grinning at me. "Annabelle has a dress that you'd look great in."

"Are you trying to push me down the path of cross-dressing, Haze?"

"What if I were?"

"I'd have to take you up on the offer." His eyes twinkle as her sips the coffee.

So I walk into our closet and bring out the dress in question. I hadn't been lying — it really would look good on him. It's the same pastel color as the pants, only longer and more flowy. It's a halter top, and I've only seen her wear it a couple of times. (Unfortunately so.)

Jacob, as it so happens, looks almost as good as Annabelle does in it. I could be biased, but things hardly ever come close to my girlfriend in my mind.

Jenna wanders in at some point in the late morning, and doesn't spare a double take at her boyfriend's attire, only kisses him on the cheek and says "You look great, babe," then makes herself coffee. I wonder how normal of an occurrence this is.

Annabelle, though, does stop when she comes out. (Which really can't be stretched to be part of morning.)

She groans, then buries her face into Jenna's shoulder. "Why does everyone look better in my clothes than I do?"

Jenna pats her on the back. "Because they were meant to be worn by the ones you love."