So Close to Reaching that Famous Happy End

It was one o'clock in the morning, and you'd driven from your parents' house. And even though I'd just pushed the button to let you in, I was feigning sleep. I heard you park. Climb the stairs. Come in the door as quietly as you could, and walk up the stairs. Sling your bag into the corner of my room, and crawl in bed with me, shake my shoulder.

"Hey."

"Hi there."

And some pleasantries not worth remarking passed. I probably asked you about the drive. You probably assured me you made it fine, with some loud music and a lot of coffee. Your hand still on my shoulder, up to my neck, back down my arm.

I kissed you.

I kissed you, and everything stopped. Just for an instant. Not long enough to measure, and certainly not long enough to notice. But at nearly one o'clock in the morning, after I'd danced all night in a borrowed dress and lavender heels, after I'd had nothing to drink all night. Everything stopped. For one moment, the stars stopped spinning. The Earth stopped dead in its orbit, and so did the moon.

The tectonic plates of my heart rearranged themselves, silently, the only motion in the entire universe, I swear, while I kissed you for the first time in almost five years, and your hand moved from my shoulder to my neck, to my face, to my hair, and your quiet gasp under my lips caused everything to move again.