my favorite kiss between us was the last.
see i didn’t even think it would be the last. maybe that’s what makes it so dear to me.
i had just given you the best (the number is our secret) minutes of whatever we had. “that was. the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. you’re crazy. you’re so crazy.” i’m offering to drop you in front of your class. “no,” you’re saying, “i can just walk.” “can you really walk?” “okay, yeah, you can drop me.”
“i’m gonna miss you,” i say. “will i see you before your birthday?”
“yeah, yeah, of course.” you’re getting out of the car now, taking your bag, smirking like a little boy.
“don’t forget this,” i say, giving you your red lunch bag. i smile back at you. “you’re so fucking happy.”
“mm hmm. yeah, kinda really fucking happy right now.” goodbye kiss. “bye.”
i think about your lips often. how they are so full. how i first described them as lips that “made me want to eat after i’ve just eaten.” how they felt pressed against mine the very first time we kissed in front of my car. oh it was a goodbye kiss too. our first and last kisses were goodbye kisses.
i liked your head kisses the most. the side of my head. the top of my head. everything. you whispering that you adored me into my hair. me closing my eyes and leaning into you like summer. it’s cold now and i’m freezing and nobody is here to bring me a jacket. i have to get up and grab one myself.
sometimes when i walk into the library i am overwhelmed by your smell. it’s so weird. sometimes i avoid going into the library so as to avoid these memories. but then i think, no. i don’t want to avoid these memories. i want to bask in them for as long as they are the softest parts of me. right now i am so vulnerable. i feel like i have been stripped of my skin and left raw to walk the earth. even the soles of my shoes feel like they aren’t there.
there is a part of me. i’m not going to say where. but there is a part of me that i can still feel you on. i still feel you there as if you had touched me there yesterday. and god knows it fucking hurts. like i can press on it and there is some sort of bruise. so deep you can’t see the end of it. the worst part is it’s not black or blue it’s the color of my skin and nobody can fucking see it. only you and i both know that it is there because only you and i both have touched it.
i’m not sorry i gave you a second chance. i’m sorry that i’m so open to giving you a third. i don’t know why i spend much of my time late at night before i go to bed wondering if you will text me. i don’t know why when my phone rings the first thing i think of is god, i hope it’s you. i hope it’s you calling to apologize and i hope it’s you calling to be taken back. i’m sorry that you are such a weak spot for me. what is it about you that i like so much. is it your hair because there are other guys with andrew garfield hair. is it your voice because there are other guys with sweeter voices. is it your hands. is it your scooby doo socks. oh fuck. the more i think about it the more i realize you are so fucking.
i don’t know how many times we’ve kissed in that month and a half. but damn. i touch my lips now and i can still feel you on them. i can still read your marks you’ve left on them like braille. you are so goddamned dear to me. i’m sorry that i didn’t make that clear enough. or maybe i made it so clear that you decided to run away. i’m sorry you left. but i’m not going to be sorry for all of my soft. not when it comes to you. i’m not.