If this was a love story, you would show up on my front steps in the middle of the night, or throw rocks at my window (without breaking it), or hold a boombox over your head and play my favorite song. You would sweep the hair out of my face, kiss me perfectly and tell me you loved me all along.

If this was an adventure, we would be on a quest, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. We would be searching. And when we found the treasure, or the culprit, or the missing child, you would hold my hand, hug me. You’d say we made a great team.

If this was a drama, one of us would be sick. One of us would be facing unspeakable adversity. One of us would come up against the odds. But we would make it through, because stories like these usually come with a happily ever after.

But as I watch you drive away, headlights blinking on, I wonder where you could catagorize us, this story. We are more than a summer story, a fluffy beach read.

Your car disappears around a corner.

I wait for the page to turn.