étoile.

My most innocent memory in my love life I can ever trace back to was 4-5 years ago.  It was my first ever real kiss, and it wasn’t even on the lips.  He had come over to hang out like the usual weekend because we went to a crummy middle school with crummy schoolwork where we had nothing better to do.  So, he pulled me aside into my parent’s bedroom and told me to hold out my hand.  I wasn’t that naive, so I questioned him teasingly.  I then covered my face with one hand, and then stuck out the other.  I stood there for a bit before I felt something soft hit the side of my cheek and immediately moved my hands away to open my eyes to see him only inches away from me.  I was flustered and jumped up and down and squealed and squawked like my usual awkward self and he laughed as I playfully beat on him.  My violent self attacked him by jumping on him (of course) and then we tumbled onto the bed and laughed for a while and then just laid there as he hugged me.  I felt like the most warmest and safest person in the world, as naive as it is, I still remember it crisp and clear to this day.

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