We kissed in the dark and I couldn’t see your face and I liked it that way. We kissed and held hands and shared swigs of Ciroc straight from the bottle as we walked up and down 122nd street. We kissed in the backseat with the streetlights making streaks against our closed eyelids. I trailed my hand between your legs and bit my lip as you texted your girlfriend to make sure she wasn’t home.
I was stunned, so incredibly stunned by how much I missed kissing you. I didn’t think I missed anything about you, really, but when I grabbed you there in the dark and pulled you towards me and heard that familiar little moan that always follows kissing you, it sparked something in me that had long since turned to ash. Your breath on my face as you chuckled against my lips made me wonder, did you feel it, too?
The hand-holding should have been a clue. You never really held my hand before, told me so many times how much you hated when couples did that and how pressured your girlfriends always made you feel to do it, so when we were walking through Central Park and you tangled your fingers between mine I should have known that tonight would be all about going back on what you used to say.
You told me once that you were incapable of cheating, didn’t you?
We held hands and kissed and shared swigs of Ciroc straight from the bottle as we walked up and down 122nd street. We kissed in the backseat of a cab with the streetlights making streaks against our eyelids. I didn’t think I missed you and I still think I don’t, but there was something about grabbing you in the dark and pulling you towards me and hearing that breathy little chuckle that comes after your kiss; that something made me wonder if you can taste nostalgia, if you can kiss a memory, if ‘remember when’ always has to stay buried in the past and can’t sometimes bubble up like champagne, just as sweet and effervescent and intoxicating and just as fleeting, too.
We kissed in the dark and I couldn’t see your face and I liked it that way.