I was probably fifteen.
I was probably fiffteen, a little stupid, and a little more than lovestruck. I had a crush on this boy, who had become somewhat of my bestfriend. It wasn't to be though, as he had a partner already. We'd still flirt and hang out all the time, and yeah, maybe he'd lead me on a bit, but I kind of liked it.
I think it was Halloween night. Myself, him, and two of our other friends were all in his basement passing around a sole hard cidar (as you do at fifteen) and one of those flavored vapor pens that have a set amont of puffs. We thought we were so cool. We had been messing around the whole evening and were piled around some beanbag chairs.
I'm not sure how it came up, but I said I'd never had my first kiss before.
He said, "Wait - you haven't?"
I shook my head.
He leaned across the beanbag between us and said, "Come here."
I leaned over, we kissed, and... that's it.
My face turned beat red and he was smiling, but that's... it. For the next five years I endured the worst possible, toxic, rubber-band relationship with him. On and off, lies and half-truths, it was horrible.
I'm twenty-two now, but... I won't forget my first kiss. I'll forget about him someday, hopefully, but I loved my first kiss.
Why Should I?
Why should I apologize for the stumble in my step, or the fumble of my words or the shake in my hands?
I always laugh, apologizing for my misstep, my mumbled words.
My hands shake, my legs jitter, and my voice wavers, and these things belong to me. No, I didn't have some great tradgey to make me this way. I did not chose to move gracelessly, like a child unfit for their legs. This is who I have become, unrefined edges, stuttered words for a mind that races too fast.
Why should I aplogize for me?
"She's not coming back!" He screamed.
You freeze, you insides coiling and turning to stone. Your eyes are wide.
He sighs, looks away. "I'm sorry. She's not. So please stop acting like one day we'll wake up and she'll be standing there like nothing ever happened."
You flex your fingers, swallow the dry lump in your throat and look at your feet. Your words are stuck on your tongue, where they glued themselves the moment he opened his mouth to yell. It's not like you didn't know this. You know she'll never return. She can't step through that door like she always did, smiling, with a joke already on it's way out her month.
"I'm sorry," You rasp. "I... I know she's not. I guess - I like thinking someday she may. It's easier."
He looks at you out the corner of his eyes. You can see words dance across his eyes, until they fade, and something colder sets in. His hands disappear into his pockets. "Well you shouldn't. It doesn't do any good. She's never coming back, and you have to get over it."
just incase anyone forgot to tell you today, you are worth it. i promise you are.
1. rough, calloused fingers, gently running through soft black fur. a purr. and a smile.
2. the sun - warm, melting into your skin. the grass - whispering against your arms.
3. two hands, wound together.
4. sweater sleeves, falling and covering curled fingers.
5. fluffy hair, early in the morning. it smells like soap and sleep.
6. blinking awake, the morning sun on your face. your limbs sprawled across the bed, covered in blankets.
these ones I can feel in my chest
Rapture - a feeling of intese pleasure or joy
Obscure - not discovered or known about; uncertain
Zenosyne - the sense that time keeps going faster
Quiver - to tremble or shake
Delicate - easily broken or damaged; fragile
and suddenly, all i felt was cold again. in my chest, my arms, my stomach.