The first kiss became a moment in past tense, only became "first" and important after I knew that I'd want to kiss this person many times more.
Before it happened, my mind and body were alive with anticipation.
My imagination was preoccupied with the puzzle pieces of when, where, how.
What I'll wear.
How he will smell.
If she keeps her eyes closed.
Where he learned tenderness.
How she holds you inside of a second, stretching it into a lifetime.
I never wondered if it would be good because all of them are in my mind. Every single one.
My imagination never disappoints.
It’s playful and dizzying letting your mind do what it’s always done when it’s most happy: imagine. Dwell in possibility.
After the kiss, there’s a new game to play in situating this kiss in the context of other firsts, and within the context of all the kisses you’ll have with this person.
A plot point on a timeline.
A Polaroid placed into the palm of your hand.
This moment alongside others.
The you who experienced it alongside the many yous who experienced the others.
We were drunk.
We stayed that way to soften the reality.
We were tender, eager, couldn’t wait another second because here you are and my god, you took your time, and that’s okay because I took mine, too. You’re here now and now is every bit as big a moment as I thought it would be.
We stayed raw because it was the first time we could be naked and seen and held without fear of our baggage competing with the beauty of
The baggage was never baggage; no one could see that but you.
We never voiced that fear, but I knew that what was in me was in you, too.
So I took care.
Our kisses and our lives now are as tender and raw as before it all.
We have witnessed one another, witnessed our selves, mired in doubt and pain and how could yous.
We have tried and failed.
Tried and succeeded.
Given up all pretense that a word is more important than us two.
That which Love has joined let no word abate.