They say life is like a roller coaster. If so, the one I’m on lifts you higher and higher, and just when you start to enjoy the view, it drops you.

I lie in the back of my truck with a bottle of pills, a pack of Marlboro, and a bottle of vodka. I close my eyes and put a cigarette to my lips and breathe in its sweet poison. When I open my eyes I breathe out and watch the smoke get lost in the wind, hoping some of my problems get carried away with it. Before the pain comes back I down a gulp from the vodka bottle. The cigarettes numb the pain, but the alcohol helps me forget it.

I can feel his presence before I can see him; he radiates warmth and happiness. He climbs into the back of my truck, lies down next to me, and puts a cigarette between his lips. Although he doesn’t light it, he doesn’t say a word, we just stare at the silence. “You know I never got the point of these,” he finally says flicking it to the ground.

"They say everyone you smoke takes 10 minutes off your life," I smirk and inhale another.
"Don’t say things like that." He gets serious and brings himself closer to me. When he looks into my eyes I wonder if he can see my soul shattering, my heart crumpling. His eyes are trying to rescue me. His fingers run over the bottle of pills, he picks them up ad rattles them. Pulling me in closer until my head is resting on his shoulder, my legs draped across his, he whispers to me, "Why did you come here tonight?"

I don’t say anything, how can I? I only let myself cry, but the silence speaks for itself. Sighing deeply he pulls me tighter, he holds me tight enough to squeeze all my broken pieces back together. I’m just scared that once he lets go I’ll fall apart again.

He lays me down, my head rests on his chest, and I can hear his heart beating steadily. I can feel his chest rising and falling with each breath he takes. I can smell his sweet worn-off cologne mixed with sweat and deodorant. When I open my eyes I can see his tough hands searching for mine, and his tanned body glistening under the stars. He consumes my senses; all I can feel, smell, see, or hear.

"Go to sleep," he says. "I’ll be here when you wake up, promise." He kisses the tip of my nose. "Dream big," he whispers just loud enough for me and the mosquitos to hear.

And for the first time in a long time, I do. I dream about how a boy made of sunshine saved a girl made of broken glass, with so much love that even the stars envied them.