One year. One year ago today I had my first kiss. One year ago today I had my first and only kiss.
How pathetic am I? I’m 16. Surely by now I should be more experienced, know more, understand more, care less. But no. exactly one year ago today I had my first and only kiss, and today I sit, fantasizing about my next. My next. Although when my next will be, is unknown. Contrary to popular belief, fantasizing is not healthy. Not even remotely. I sit, and I think, and the more I sit and I think the worse I feel. Even the calmest of my fantasies leaves me lonely and sad. Not all hope is lost though.
One year. I have exactly one year to make this work. I have exactly one year to make this work before he goes home.
Again my patheticness (and yes I am aware of the nonexistence of this word) astounds me. The time it takes me to get over my first (and only) kiss, is abnormally long. And once the pain of the betrayal seems to disappear, I put myself in another situation destined for heartbreak. He is the first. The first guy I have really started to like since the other first (and only). He is funny. He is sweet. He is flirty. Everything seems to be in place. Except. Except that I am not entirely sure he likes me. Except im not entirely sure he likes me and he is not currently a resident of the United States.
One year. My one year with him is slipping away. My one year with him is slipping away and I still haven’t gotten my second kiss.
My middle name? pathetic. In this day and age old fashioned is, well…old fashioned. Although I can’t help but wish. Wish my knight in shining armor (more like shin guards and cleats) will come in and sweep me off my feet. Asking him out, is out of the question. So I sit. Literally, I sit and I wait. He won’t do it. He would never. He would never like me enough. He would never like me enough to make the first move. And if he did, what happens when summer comes and he goes home.
One year. One year since my first kiss. One year since my first kiss, how many more till my next?