Latch

The way we kissed each other was animalistic yet soft enough to pass for a first kiss at the ripe age of 13. He tenderly gripped my neck, with his other hand clutched to my face gently stroking the contour of my cheek. He pressed his body against mine. Locks of my hair weaved through his embattled fingers and he tugged slightly whenever he’d pull me closer. How can someone who hardly knows you express so much love and affection?

Maybe it was the one too many drinks, or it could have been the blow. I was undeniably captivated by his presence and the way he looked at me. His vibrant green eyes pierced a part of my heart I thought was out commission. His irises glowed, hugged by the warmness of his skin and the darkness that surrounded us in my bed. The moon shined through the window and danced along the peach fuzz on his back as I laid next to him in complete and utter silence, the kind that’s neither awkward nor unwelcome.

I know this doesn’t mean anything. He asked me to breakfast and I said no. This doesn’t mean anything. Please, go home.