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“What’s your favorite word?” She was belly-down on the bed and her head hung over the edge of her Tempurpedic paradise. She lifted her head and fixated two green eyes on mine to ask the question.

“Favorite word…? Bliss. That’s a pretty cool word.” My head was buried in my book as I shot out a response.

“Hah! You wuss.” She smirked. I loved it when she smirked. “Bliss is so weak. Try something hardcore: euphoria, excitement, ecstasy.”

I paused for a while and looked up to see that she, in turn, had her forehead pressed against the side of her bed.

“Ecstasy…that’s a pretty cool word, I guess.”

“You’re freaking right. It is a cool word,” and although her I couldn’t see her face, I knew that there was a smirk behind all that hair.

Ecstasy. I think I know what ecstasy is. Ecstasy is when I take in that first whiff of smoke from my Dad’s cigarettes. Ecstasy is when my iPod plays the perfect song as I drive down the highway. Ecstasy is her smirk. Scratch that.

She is ecstasy.





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