Photo Credit: liquidtheoryinc at deviantart.com
She’s there and crying, her mascara staining her cheeks, and you think she’s never been more beautiful. Her sadness paints her face in sunset colors, her green eyes sparkling with pain. Through her tears, she holds on, exclaiming her need for home, for a place full instead of fake, and you hold her, trace her tears with your fingers, hoping you can ease her heartache.
You know those green eyes will never be yours. You know she just needs a friend, and your own heart aches a little knowing that’s all you’ll ever be,
but her lips are suddenly searching your own, her hands roaming the strands of your hair like waves combing the sand.
And it’s now. You realize this is when it happens, the kiss you’ve been waiting for since you first saw her face. You remember her mouth tastes like cinnamon, her tongue sweet and hot. You remember her skin and her fingers and the salt on her lips. You remember every part of this thirty second moment because
it’s not the first kiss or the last kiss. It’s not those kisses that are the best. It’s this kiss, the one you’ve waited for. This kiss that you will remember above any other because it’s her and it’s been twenty years of longing and you know it won’t last because as suddenly as it began, she’s gone, her footsteps echoing down the corridor,
and it is now that you start counting time because this is when before her ends and after begins.