The light passing through the stained glass windows of the chapel perfectly illuminates their golden reflections. Our breaths escaped our bodies as we watched them pick up the bottle of whiskey as they brought it to their mouths to taste it. We watched with a twisted sort of excitement, almost wishing someone would come see us drinking with one of the camp counselors. It was fascinating to watch them and see the way they threw their heads back every time they laughed, and how they had to take a sip from the almost empty bottle before finishing the stories they told about their getaways during school holidays. It was one of the most dangerous things we've done. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay Taylor and I were best friends since we were born, thanks to our mothers' long-standing friendship. We had stolen cartons of strawberry milk from the cafeteria and books from the book fair, but nothing compared. We were learning all about one of the hottest camp counselors around. We would have done anything to say that we knew them on a different level than the other kids at camp. We didn't know their favorite color, or their favorite food, but we did know their favorite drink and how much they would have to drink to start line dancing with their shirts off. We knew their favorite bars and how many bartenders they had slept with. We knew their questions about God and his reality. We also knew their favorite hiding place near the big oak tree and how much they would love to sneak their whiskey in and wait for the other counselors to let them taste their whiskey lips in the dark. Taylor blurted, staring intently at the bottle of whiskey. “It makes you see the world differently,” the advisor replied with the softest voice in the world. “Why would you need it?” » Taylor asked, to which the counselor responded by saying that the world would be a much better place with open-minded people who wouldn't place such heavy restrictions on their lives because of their age or gender. As we walked back to our bunk, that was the only thing we replayed in our heads. I wondered why the counselor would still want to see God's perfect Earth in a different light. Maybe that would make the relationship between them and me more acceptable. I didn't know that, and neither did Taylor. We stood for hours discussing who the counselor would end up with and whether or not our mother would accept the relationship. "I always hear that 'love is love,'" Taylor whispered, letting the words cut through the silence that had been unbroken for some time as we considered our feelings toward the counselor, "but this are just words, no one really feels that way. » I let that sink into my brain, really sinking in the meaning. I felt like there was no real love other than the love I felt toward the counselor, but if it was so real and so true, why was it wrong? Why wasn't I allowed to express my love towards my mentor? Why couldn't I kiss them? Why couldn't I hug them? It was more than just the fact that Taylor was in love with the same person as me, because my love was bigger and truer than the love Taylor felt. I teased Taylor that the counselor liked me more because he always offered me the whiskey before tipping the bottle in a gesture towards Taylor. Taylor knew it was my way of.