That moment, that for probably the first time in your life you remove the filter between your thoughts and mouth while being completely sober, and you start relating your thoughts one after another, without having to explain them. She calls you weird. You sit down and continue like she hasn't said it because it's too late to stop talking. And then she says, please stop, I don't wanna listen to this, I don't want to talk about death, it's too touchy. 

She acts as if this is not you talking after two years, she seems to not know that she is the only person you ever gave up your masks for without the help of alcohol, and tells you to finish your essay. 

You say, but it's not about death it's about me. I thought you were fine with me talking about myself.

She pauses and says okay fine, we should talk about death because we never do. 

I get up and leave and she is relieved. She doesn't see how new this is for me, how I will crawl back to my room and never speak again after she cuts me off. Well, I can't blame her.