I can’t stop thinking about him.
About our first kiss; how soft, almost unnoticeable it was.
How it was so quick, so fleeting that I had to take a moment to process if it had really happened.
And then there were the kisses afterwards, more purposeful and full of intent, but delicate nonetheless.
I keep thinking about his lips pressed to my neck, how wonderful a feeling.
How sweet he was, how considerate it all was.
I can’t stop imagining myself underneath him, those same lips on my own once again, but needier than before, as if waiting had taken a toll on us.
It’s been a year since I first imagined those lips grazing upon mine.
But it’s been worth the wait.
Yet, I’m not patient enough to wait even more.
I’m tired of waiting.
I’m crying as I write this.
You made me cry today.
It’s my birthday…
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