We were young, and the world tilted,
third year of college balancing on edges,
her hospital job steady as heartbeat rhythm,
while I stumbled through borrowed tomorrows.
On her floor, the rules bent sideways,
unused pills slipped into nurses’ pockets,
half-hoarded hush swept under fluorescent lights,
and sometimes, she brought the quiet home.
A bottle of Valium rested between us,
a small answer to loud desperation.
We told ourselves survival has loopholes.
We whispered: just this once, it\'s fine.
A stupid poor student, I swallowed excuses,
little yellow tablets dissolving into permission.
The ethics felt blurry in the low light,
like loving someone’s shadow more than soul.
Now, this memory sits in my chest,
a ghost of what \'easier\' once meant—
illegal, unethical, but strangely intimate.
Who were we to rob the air we breathed?