One Kiss Too Few
That look, green eyes that see right through me. Can he read my mind? The lurching feeling in the pit of my stomach grows unconfined. A bead of sweat feels like it is forming at my widow’s peak, threatening to flow between my nervous eyes. My heart rate quickens and my feet nervously cross beneath me like a child who has to pee. My hands are holding his arms at the wrists, and I gently give them a squeeze with the wish that he will give me a cue. Panic, anxiety and self-consciousness stack upon one another, building a seemingly insurmountable tower around my rationale. My ability to comprehend language has left me, as nervous giggles and noises of confirmation leave my mouth without my permission.
I try to breathe in deeply without exposing the quivers residing behind the lump in my throat. Blood rushes to the surface of my skin as it flushes red with heat.
Our eyes lock, and he steps toward me. Our heads tilt in opposing directions, as if we were asking life’s most puzzling questions. The threat of colliding noses is swiftly evaded and anxious lips find safe landing places. Hot breath escapes to fill the space between our faces, and puckered lips meet like magnets finding their home on the refrigerator door.
We linger for a second more to absorb the sweetness of the moment. Without my knowledge, hands rearrange like in a magic trick. But, the air is jealous and finds a way to split our lips, signaling the end of their sweet embrace with a quiet click. My lips stayed slightly puckered and my eyes closed for a moment too long. I was caught lingering in post kiss bliss waiting for another, but clearly, I was wrong.
We parted ways with a hug, well wishes, and slightly somber eyes. It’s better this way, we said. Less complicated.
Was that wise?
~ Tracy Roux | Edited by Afreen Zeb