The first time or the last (a.k.a. the blog post you’ve been waiting for)
I walked toward his car in the empty side of the dark, hospital parking lot. He parked his car and got out. He walked to me. He almost didn’t hug me because he was sweaty from work. As if I cared right then.
I explained why I was there. I told him things that no one was supposed to know about. I didn’t know why, it just all came out.
He knew I was upset. He hugged me again and I kissed his cheek. He kissed mine.
I didn’t want to let him go. I kissed his neck and he laughed.
“Kiss me.” I said, louder than I meant to.
“Please kiss me.” I told him again.
“But you told me not to.”
“I don’t care.”
And he did. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have said that. But from the moment I walked out of the Emergency room doors I knew I was going to.
Was it all that I expected it to be? Yes. Almost. Was it all I had hoped it would be? Eh. Not really. I had high hopes.
Was it perfectly romantic, standing there in a parking lot in the middle of town, all alone, in the dark, just us? Oh yes, it was indeed. And I doubt I shall be able to think of anything else for weeks. I doubt I will stop thinking of his lips on mine for quite awhile now.
In fact, neither of us got much done yesterday, thinking about it.
Which just shows how young and childish we are still.
Or how in love we are. And maybe that’s the same thing.