Never would I have expected such acute disappointment from being left without a kiss goodbye.
I walk slightly ahead of you, not quite knowing how we’d end things. What did I have to say? How much would be enough? What would it look like, the perfect sendoff? You must be anticipating it. It’s like that feeling when you play pass the parcel. What do you do with that thing in your hands? Hold it for a second longer or toss it away? What’s it going to be?
I’m nervous, can you tell? You must do. I don’t know what to do with myself. We’re trying not to be obvious and I think that much is obvious to the both of us. I miss the bus because its arrival rudely interrupted our conversation. “I feel like I have more to say”. I tell you in the most serious voice appropriate for the streets that I’m around if you ever need anything. And then we’re back to joking again. We’re laughing, and look at us, we’re so brave; we don’t look away.
It’s quiet again and we’re brought to the precipice. At any moment we might have to jump. When can we move and how can we do it well? I catch you glance swiftly at my lips and I can’t bring myself to reciprocate. But I recall that your lips seemed bruised earlier today and curiously how I had, for the second time, entertained the thought of kissing you.
There’s a kind of excitement that lust makes a mockery of. It’s in the exchange, an undercurrent that is simultaneously understated and intense in its purity. It’s in the way legs are crossed. When thighs fall together like balancing cards and when a smile is shared at the right moment. It’s our secret, because we know that every touch is significant. And when you’re reluctant to move, you’re screaming: I want to be close to you.
“I won’t keep you any longer”, I say. Another pregnant pause. Hug? “Another hug”, you say in an oh-okay-haha sort of way. We smile briefly, then you turn and walk away, whilst a million crazy thoughts flood my mind. Imagine if I were to be that girl who runs after the guy- wait! The grab and the kiss and the slow fade to black.
Maybe I should’ve said “come here”. Maybe you’d have cocked a brow and moved a little closer. And maybe I’d have to prompt you again, to tell you it was okay. “Closer”. Then maybe you’d finally get it. It’s okay. Just kiss me already.