My first date. Nothing I imagined or even thought to hope for, but perfect all the same. No moonlit walk on the beach, or fancy dinner where they spoke an exotic language. Just you and I plus a pair of swings and the milkyway.

You whispered my name as if you were afraid you might break it. My fingers tingled and I swear it's because they longed for yours. But to my satisfaction it wasn't long before your hand picked itself up to incase mine. Metacarpals intertwined like the roots of an old oak tree. Those butterflies that had seemingly died off came out of hibernation with a vengeance to (unsubtly) prove their point. The young blush of love revealed itself in my cheeks and they became so hot I feared that even in the dead of night I'd be outed. A vacancy sign for your lips to rest themselves upon as long as they pleased.

After 74 minutes we picked ourselves up to return to the real world. 4 blocks. 4 blocks you had to cradle my head in your hands. To call be baby or even resume holding my hand but you didn't. You just spoke. Smiled. Laughed. When we got to my door I waited. Fondled my keys in hopes if buying some time. I felt defeated. Confused. Angry. Relieved. If you did kiss me what was I to do? How do I tilt my head? Do I use tongue? And as I was thinking these things it happened. I almost missed it. My first kiss. Nothing I imagined or even thought to hope for, but perfect all the same.