Moonlight
I can still feel the balmy air on that warm August evening in your backyard.
We were propped up on threadbare towels spread upon a sea of short, soft grass.
A lone cricket chirped in the nearby bush of daffodils while pigeons on the power line above were settling to sleep.
The wind was cool and crisp, and I drank up how it made your gray t-shirt ripple back and forth, like you were teasing me closer…
Or maybe I dreamt that part up.
My eyes were plastered on you and you were gazing up at the infinite moonless expanse of darkness spilled with lights.
In that moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if you were imagining just the two of us somewhere far away.
I wonder if you also felt that everything was perfect.
We sat cross-legged on the cream-tiled mall floor, propped up against the wall.
The shuffle of shoppers around us were drowned out in our light-hearted conversation and laughter.
In our little world, we dug up childhood memories and repeated inside jokes whose origins we had already forgotten.
You had just finished telling me about the time you almost drowned when you were 6 when, out of the blue ocean I lost myself in, you told me to close my eyes.
I thought that this was just another one of your jokes until I saw nothing but the dark infinity and felt a warmth, your warmth as delicate as moonlight, inches from my face.
Without a second thought, I met you halfway and felt the Universe spin for a whole second.
As I drew back slowly, I felt something new: something in me blossomed where there was nothing but floodwaters for months.
Hesitancy spread across your red face and you nervously asked if I was alright.
I smiled and replied that there was nothing I wanted more than for you to be my first kiss.
When you glanced up again, I pulled you in from your gray t-shirt and this time, I didn’t want to let go until the stars stopped shining.
