I had just kissed a boy and it hadn't disgusted me, it hadn't made me nauseous like it should have been. I had just kissed a boy and I liked the feeling of his lips on mine, his sweet taste, which was a mix of sweetened lemon tea and mint toothpaste...
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The clock on my bedside table hit the number three of December 20th and the two of us were still awake. I had gone from sleeping for eight hours every night to not sleeping for more than three hours. I was always damn tired and when it was finally time to sleep I couldn't wait to lay in my bed and find comfort there. All I wanted was sleep and now, suddenly, I was okay with staying awake till three in the morning talking with him.
Andy had forced me to sleep in the bed with him, deeming it pointless to have to use the sofa when my bed was big enough for two people. At first there was a part of me that told me not to sleep with him because it was wrong since I was a boy and so was he, but another part of me told me the opposite and eventually I ended up listening to him. There was nothing strange about sleeping with him. I stayed on my side and he was on his, sometimes we turned around and ended up looking at each other, but there was nothing wrong with it. It was like sleeping with Emma except her scent was very strong while Andy's was just sweet and pleasant.
"So my mom and I went to buy cotton candies and ate them all sitting on a park bench. The sunset that day was beautiful, breathtaking."
"You talk about your mom as if she were your favorite person." I said without really wanting to say it out loud. It was more of a thought than anything else, but as always I had to ruin everything and externalize it.
"She is... she has always been my favorite person and always will be." For a few minutes, I stayed silent without saying anything. I limited myself to staring at his face in the dim light: his brown hair seemed very dark, his blue eyes were so blue and incredibly intense, almost a dark blue, his smile illuminated everything the dim lights couldn't reach.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"You always talk about your mum, you tell me everything about her and it's basically as if I've always known her, but you've never told me where she is."
"She is now at 24W 100th St in New York." I could hear a hint of sadness in the tone of his voice that tightened my throat, creating a sort of blockage that made it difficult for me to breathe for a few seconds. It was strange to depend on someone's emotions and feelings so much... "Or at least she was the last time I received a letter from her."
"You wrote her letters?" I was surprised that someone still used letters and not just phones.
"Yep." He replied, popping the p. "We wrote letters to each other for a year, then everything vanished into the air together with her." He hid his face in his pillow and when I realized he was crying my arms automatically wrapped themselves around him in a hug in which he just needed to let go.
In the last couple of months our relationship had changed in every way, as we had. We no longer argued, the insults were something that no longer belonged to us apart from sometimes we called each other "stupid" or "asshole" in a nice way and not in a mean way.. He had begun to open up to me and I to him even though there were many things that I had had to not tell him for more than valid reasons. I had pretty much everything I wanted from him, yet I felt like there was something missing.
