Instead

Instead of breakfast, he could have called it lunch because it was eleven in the morning. Instead of a walk, he could have called it an escape because he didn't want to stay home. Instead of love, he could have called it a crush since he hadn't seen her before. Instead of a conversation, he could have called it a proposal because he was going to marry her someday. Instead of a parting, he could have called it a heartbreak as he didn't know when he'd see her again.

Meanwhile the caterpillars crawl along the sidewalks, passing over the stones and cracked blocks where they met in some significance of nature. She walks down the street, past the church, and towards the river, even though she can smell the sulfurous stench of the soap factory as she gets closer to the river. The boy she'd met was charming in an awkward kind of way. His cologne was too strong but he had vulnerable eyes, which were both cute and compelling. If they ran into each other again they would make agreements to meet again and then further commitments would follow.

Instead of water, she could have called it fire because the river was so acidic it would burn you if you touched it, or so the adults said. Instead of air, she could have called it poison gas because the smell of the solvents turning into soap was caustic and lung desiccating. Instead of loneliness, she could have called it independence as soon she'd be gone from New Jersey and off to college. Instead of caterpillars, she could have called them scavengers because they were thriving in the haze of pheromones and cologne. Instead of a parting, she could have called it a heartbreak as she didn't know when she'd see him again.