written so long ago.

I made it a point not to touch you the entire night.
All through the movie I had my hand ready to reach for yours,
silently hoping you would be the one to reach for mine.
You didn’t
and I was slightly disappointed.
On the ride home, we had that conversation about my injury,
the one that usually doesn’t come up in the dark.
You listened and
it was easy.

When I dropped you off I realized you were
just as you had been when I first met you,
charming, sweet, funny, and completely yourself.
And I realized I was completely me the entire night,
completely comfortable.

So as you were saying goodbye,
I insisted on a hug.
I hugged you tight so you would know
I meant it.

And when I kissed you,
you put your hand gently on my face
like you were the one who meant it
and I felt myself smile through,
completely and comfortably.

When did this confusion
make me so impulsive?

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2 Comments to “written so long ago.”

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