I’d seen her around before. Never really spoke. Never really knew her. Just knew who she was. The sort of person you notice without meaning to. And every time she appeared I’d suddenly find somewhere else to be. Not because I wasn’t interested. Because I was. Far too interested. Funny what fear looks like when you’re young. Sometimes it looks like confidence. Sometimes it looks like silence. Sometimes it looks like walking the other way. Then somehow we ended up talking. I don’t remember how. I don’t remember why. I just remember trying to act normal. And failing. She was laughing. I was trying to think of clever things to say. Thinking too much. Saying too little. The usual. And the whole time it never crossed my mind that she might actually like me. Not me. No chance. Not her. Not like that. Then she kissed me. For the very first time. And everything I’d been getting wrong suddenly made sense. One second. Then the next. Nothing was the same. I’ve forgotten most of that year. Couldn’t tell you what I was doing. Couldn’t tell you what was on television. Couldn’t tell you what was in the news. But I remember her face. I remember her smile. I remember standing there wondering if this was actually happening. Because nobody prepares you for that moment. The moment the thing you wanted most becomes real. And I remember walking home. Trying not to grin. Trying to act cool. Trying to behave like a normal human being. Absolutely impossible. She kissed me. For the very first time. And I can still feel that moment now. Years later. All this time later. Still there. Still bright. Still mine.
