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Description
There's this moment I keep replaying in my head. I can't stop thinking about it, no matter how hard I try. It reminds me of some of the things I long for most. The feeling of completely safe, passionate spontaneity. Trust. Memories. Warmth. The feel of being embraced, accepted, desired.

I had promised him that every time he said the word "cute," he would get a kiss. We were walking down the hill in the cemetery, our fingers intertwined and hands swinging with enthusiasm. Back and forth, back and forth. I could feel the smile stretching over my lips, and even as I let it fade from my face, I could feel it within.

We were talking, breathing, stepping with a scattered yet somehow synchronized pattern. It was raining softly, the heavy mist falling like damp mesh fabric from the sky.

He said it, catching himself six of our footsteps later. Cute... step, step... step step step, step... And he caught his breath. I smiled. My cheeks burning from expressing my joy. We turned, our lips meeting quickly once, as if rushed and nervous. Fitting it into the last possible breadth of that single second.

A moment later. "That was not a worthy kiss," I told him. I tugged on his hand, pulling him toward me. His body swung easily against mine, like a door on a freshly oiled hinge. His chest hit mine, my hand squeezed his. The breath was gently knocked from my torso, and I drew it in again as our lips softly pressed against each other's. We gave the kiss its own breath, its very own space in time. Another kiss, and another.

I grinned. As my foot fell back to the ground when we began to walk again, I felt a wave of heat hit me for a quick second, electrifying my skin. Again, it hit me, and once more. All within seconds. I had been struck with a wave of happiness. One for each kiss.

Description
There's this moment I keep replaying in my head. I can't stop thinking about it, no matter how hard I try. It reminds me of some of the things I long for most. The feeling of completely safe, passionate spontaneity. Trust. Memories. Warmth. The feel of being embraced, accepted, desired.

I had promised him that every time he said the word "cute," he would get a kiss. We were walking down the hill in the cemetery, our fingers intertwined and hands swinging with enthusiasm. Back and forth, back and forth. I could feel the smile stretching over my lips, and even as I let it fade from my face, I could feel it within.

We were talking, breathing, stepping with a scattered yet somehow synchronized pattern. It was raining softly, the heavy mist falling like damp mesh fabric from the sky.

He said it, catching himself six of our footsteps later. Cute... step, step... step step step, step... And he caught his breath. I smiled. My cheeks burning from expressing my joy. We turned, our lips meeting quickly once, as if rushed and nervous. Fitting it into the last possible breadth of that single second.

A moment later. "That was not a worthy kiss," I told him. I tugged on his hand, pulling him toward me. His body swung easily against mine, like a door on a freshly oiled hinge. His chest hit mine, my hand squeezed his. The breath was gently knocked from my torso, and I drew it in again as our lips softly pressed against each other's. We gave the kiss its own breath, its very own space in time. Another kiss, and another.

I grinned. As my foot fell back to the ground when we began to walk again, I felt a wave of heat hit me for a quick second, electrifying my skin. Again, it hit me, and once more. All within seconds. I had been struck with a wave of happiness. One for each kiss.