Every day I walked her home. We were breathless and starstruck; caught up in the thrill of loving somebody. Only a few weeks ago -- or was it months? Time blurs when you're in love -- we had decided to hold hands (after a short conversation). We talked about everything. I had been so nervous, so excited that it seemed like the rapture had come when our fingers locked. I was thrilled; I'd never experienced physical connection like that before. I only nodded when she explained that she preferred to have her arm behind mine; it was all so new to me. I could barely wrap my mind around it. It wasn't anything special, certainly. Just hands. Us. Holding them. And yet, that meant the world to me, and that simple action grabbed my heart and held it captive.
Every day after that first time, we held hands. We held hands and laughed and talked and hoped that time would stand still for us. We held hands and marveled at the silent connection. We held hands and loved every second of it. We held hands and only let go to hug each other goodbye.
Every day emotions bubbled in the pit of my stomach when we bid each other farewell. For the briefest of moments, we embrace and murmur those words that meant so much. However long we hug, it'll always seem like the blink of an eye when we let go of each other and return to the world. The embrace never lasts long enough; just when I begin to comprehend the love blossoming between us I have to walk away. Every day I walked away, laughing or wearing a bittersweet grin. I loved her, but I hated leaving. I loved being by her but I loathed turning away.
Meet after school. Smile from ear to ear. Look down at our feet. Walk. Hold hands. Embrace; whisper a confession. That was the pattern we held too; until one day, it wasn't.
Just like every other day we had hugged, affirmed our love for each other, then torn ourselves apart. I walked away with a heart heavy with love and longing. The brief walk we shared was never enough time. Except that day, I didn't just walk away. She called my name out softly, and I stopped. Turning back towards her, I wasn't sure what to expect. This was out of the ordinary; my mind was blank and for some reason was having a hard time getting started. I'd blame that on how she always took my breath away. She took a few steps towards me, silently closing the distance my disheartened trudge had formed between us. She looked up at me and for a second we gazed into each other's eyes. Despite all the cliches her eyes were unreadable: they were vibrant, full of... Something. In spite of how close we were, I had no idea what she was. Thinking -- or feeling. Then, without any warning and without a moment's hesitation she leaned on her toes and quickly kissed me on the lips, cocking her head ever so slightly to the side as she squeezed her eyes shut. She kissed me. We kissed.
My first kiss.
Like many things in my life, it was over before I could react. It passed before I could even think. I was shocked, standing in the middle of the street staring at her. She smiled, said goodbye again and turned around, walking away.
I walked home.
We talked about it later (we talked about everything) and I got a glimpse of what it was like from her perspective. She said that when she told me to turn around, I had a look on my face that was "half confused, half hopeful, and the rest was just begging me to do it."
Every day we kissed goodbye and hugged and walked and whispered "I love you" and held hands and were teenagers in love. Until one day we weren't.
Nowadays I keep my mind and heart open, doing my best to be my best, while on the lookout for somebody to watch dumb dramas with, share kooky songs, and send sappy quotes.
"Sometimes I'm a loser; I'll stump you and confuse you about things you cannot fix; sometimes I'm amazing, I will blow your mind baby, and that's why you'll stick to me." (Gregory and the Hawk, Loser)
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