I’ve kissed you a million times. Maybe more. This morning, just like every other, we lingered until the last moment, leaving only enough space between the bed and the door for an “I love you.”
I climbed into the car and started the drive. Moments in, the morning shivers subsiding, I was entranced by the memory of our first kiss:
I sat across the console from you as you pulled up just short of my driveway, just beyond the sightline of the big picture window at the front of the house. You looked to me. I’m sure my eyebrows lifted. I leaned in. Stunned by how different this girl in your front seat was from what you’d heard so much about, you asked, “Oh, a kiss?”
I didn’t answer. Just leaned in further.
And the rest, as they say, is history. A twenty-two year history. A present, a gift. And my future. Enough to fill the space between you and me, between work and the weekend, between better and worse. More than enough: That first kiss. And every one that’s come after.
I’m participating in the 2017 Slice of Life Challenge over at Two Writing Teachers.