catharsis.

kaleidoscope, part two.

we're in class, our lecturer's voice a muffled hum in our ears, and we're passing notes like a couple of primary school kids.

I think I'd want to be jeff goldblum, is scribbled on the paper you pass to me in your shaky handwriting. I can't remember what exactly I asked to warrant that answer.

I smile and scratch out a reply. then I guess I'll be laura dern.

sneaking a glance at you, I see a knowing smile stretch across your face.

did you just make a jurassic park reference? you tease.

smugly, I recall all the times you've gushed about the movie franchise and your endearing preteen obsession with dinosaurs. I scribble back, you bet your ass.

this time, your reply takes a little longer. your fingers brush against mine – warm in the air-conditioned chill of the classroom – when you pass the scrap back to me.

it's official, you've written. you're my soulmate.

I read your reply over and over, committing the shape of it to memory.

'soulmate'.

the word shines like the sun, lighting up the darkest corners of my heart.

_

but I suppose that sometimes, even soulmates aren't meant to last.