fruit punch lips

fourteen.

I tug my heavy white comforter up the stairs, aided by moonlight. She has snuck out to see me, buttons on her denim jacket gleaming, hair tied back and a million little curls escaping the monstrosity of her ponytail. She kisses me quick, once on my lips, once on my forehead, once on my temple. I ask her why she came, my moon-stark goddess. She grins, kisses me again, a mash of Coca-Cola Chapstick. "Just wanted to make sure you were real."