I’m Not Shocked

10/13/2020

It’s really no surprise that I ended up kissing you.

(Have I ever told you I love you for sharing that blame with me?)

I thought about it beforehand. Lots.

And it got bad after summer.

I started to stare at your lips.

I started to hang onto the moments I could play with your hair just so I could touch your neck and electrocute my fingers.

“In my head I can see it all play out. I’ll fight this until we’re up late one night. The last two standing. Questions flying, you’ll give me an effortless answer that gives me butterflies. I’ll finally allow my lips to make my way to your neck. I’ve imagined the taste over a million times. My hands would hunt for the other side. My fingers would mold to the line of your jaw as my mouth explores the space that turns into your shoulders. Your skin would stand up and you would freeze. We’re just friends. But damn, you’ve wanted this too. Your breath sharp, you’d finally take my head into your hands and kiss me back.”

I’m laughing at this teenage crush, hormone-induced entry in hindsight.

I wanted you. I wanted every line on your lips to meet mine.

But more than I wanted to kiss you, I wanted you to kiss me back.

I wanted that reassurance that the things I was feeling were mutual.

I wanted to know that I didn’t misinterpret the way you touched my arm that day on Andrea’s couch.

I wanted to know I wasn’t crazy.

But you kissed me back.