Sneaking out of a dilapidated frat house at 3 in the morning after a drunken, sweaty make-out session rarely has love written all over it. But as I fumbled to kiss him good-night, awkwardly waved, and headed out into the chilly April night, without even an exchange of numbers or last names, I knew this guy wasn’t going anywhere. We were young, we are young, but I knew from that moment—that simple, meaningless lingering wave before I turned and ran home—that he would change my life forever.
Postscript: Almost a year later, we’re very much still together and still busy making out–but in far classier places, don’t worry. I still can’t shake the deep, knowing feeling that this guy isn’t going anywhere.
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