There they stood, right in front of me, holding hands. After a while, they held on by only a few fingers, and then just by their pinkies. One of them was holding onto the other with more gusto than the other seemed to want. Pitifully, I was reminded of myself.


I know that summer as the summer. There was never a summer like that before. Sometimes, I worry that there will never be a summer like that again.


The aloof one leans towards the other. I expect, anticipate, beg for them to kiss. Their lips did nothing but talk.


So desperate for that one kiss. A kiss, a sign that I might have a part in this world. A sign that I, too, could love and be loved.


Again, they move closer and again, they pull apart. It’s a mesmerizing dance. Expressions of love seem so close, only to be aborted. “Kiss,” I pleaded.


My prayers go unanswered. The summer was a fluke.


The dance continues. Unknowingly, they tease me. “Do it! Make my day! Kiss!” Still they only touched at the pinky.


Why have I been tempted only to be denied?