Remember that thing I told you once?
It was funny and startling
And unexpected. Neither of us expected it,
So we laughed.
Do you remember that thing?
It left behind a feeling, like sadness not but sadness.
We weren’t sad.
But we were like sad.
Hollow. Melancholy, looking straight into our hollowness.
Do you remember that thing? I only told you it that once.
I wish I had told it to you every day since because after I said it after we laughed and grew quiet with empty melancholy, you turned to me. In the quiet left behind by whatever I said, you placed your hand on my leg, and you kissed my lips.
It was the first time you kissed me.
Do you remember that thing I told you once? Right before you kissed me on my lips?
I wish I could remember what it was.
I just remember you. Pretty, startled, kissable you.