"Shhh," she said. "I'm sleeping."

"Just like that. From a hundred miles an hour to asleep in a nanosecond. I wanted to so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep. Not even have sex. Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating. So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane." 

I wonder, if I ever will be that alive, the type of aliveness that surrounds the truly living and wakes up those around them. An eating disorder kills, is there enough room in my mind, my body for being alive? Could I live and be reckless and wild, with emotions and feelings, and be fascinating and intriguing, while slowly dying?

I can have both, I believe.

(I am still away, this post was pre-written and scheduled to be posted, so I won't be able to do comment replies, I'm sorry.)