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An ache; it started off dull barely noticeable, tolerable. Then it intensified, the sharp thud in synchronisation with every one of my inhales and exhales.
Moments like these I was sincerely grateful for my black out curtains, although I, to some extent, enjoyed the tranquility of nature, I had my limits. And the bright, bashful sun in the early hours of day exceeded those. Especially after an eventful night.
I blinked a couple of times attempting to adjust to the morning. Eventually I found myself sat up on my bed, just staring.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.
Kisses, some meaningful others meaningless. Some intentional others accidental. Such an intimate action devalued by how common and normal it is.
I kissed Laina last night; and it was meaningful, intentional, and intimate. Which is why I wish to do it again and again and again. Regret never once flashed across my disarrayed thoughts. I don't feel bad let alone regretful for doing something I've been yearning to do. The only thing stopping me was the timing and a smidge of the actual confidence it takes to do said action.
I can only be so grateful that the feelings -which have not been confronted- were reciprocated otherwise she would've never kissed me back. Right? Or maybe she felt bad, but that can't be it. No. Yes? But-
Deciding to put my theories to test, I did something irrational and purely fuelled by adrenaline and my male pride.
I called her.
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I like Christian Foresythe. I like Christian Beauregard Foresythe. I like him more than a friend. I like him more than I should. And that in itself is bad. Really bad. Bad considering my future.
And it was all thanks to that kiss - that heavenly kiss, that glorious kiss. The kiss that solidified my feelings for this coffee-eyed boy.
It was beyond obvious that we had crossed that 'just friends' boundary. I knew it, he knew it, we both knew it.
