Your First Kiss,
not mine.
Your first kiss.
I came over to your house after yesterdays picnic where we leaned into each other and laughed together in each others presence. It was a beautiful warm sunny day, we strolled through paths and paths of sidewalk eventually leading to the lake where I would watch you take a swim.
In your apartment, my nerves were racing, and I had the subtle feeling that you could sense that too. Unknowing to what was coming next, I walked past you to your spare room to grab a blanket. Almost every time I visited, I’d grab a blanket and go situate myself on your couch. From this ritual, I had somehow convinced you to watch more hours of Shark Tank than you probably ever imagined watching in your life.
When I turned around with your blanket in my hand, you were right there to greet me. Right behind me. Inches away.
Face to face. I felt your breath, the heat between us, and I like to say that I could hear your thoughts, of course I couldn’t, but your eyes said enough.
I broke our gaze. Although you couldn’t see it, I could feel my cheeks flushing and my heart rate speeding up. Walking past you (yet again), I made my way to the couch.
You appeared right next to me. The next thing you know, you kissed me.
But did I kiss you back? No.
Why? Is it because I didn’t want to? No.
I froze - I couldn’t believe that the person I was infatuated with for the past year had finally kissed me. So like the person I am, instead of kissing you back, I was taken aback. I’m sorry for not kissing you in the moment, if you forgive me, I’ll kiss you back every time to make up for it.
