Every romance ends with a kiss. The music swells and their lips touch...
Then?
Happily ever after I suppose.
The story I’m about to tell you does not end with a kiss.
It starts with one.
Not a big one after many years of waiting
Or a small kiss goodbye.
But a kiss to show what could be.
Or, what might have been I suppose.

Their lips broke apart.
And they stopped for a moment.Then she ran down the stairs,
Behind her lingered an unspoken agreement,
tainted with with a could-have-been-heartbreak.
And nothing changed between them.
Nothing but, perhaps, the air they shared.
An air of slight desperation, and the knowledge of how things could have been different,
but weren’t.
And time went on.
She dated him
He watched as she broke another heart.
(Because she runs)
He dated her
She teased about what a miracle it was that he found someone at all
(because he always lingers)

And on some level they cared.
He  cared as he watched the way her dress flowed as she said “I Do”
Eyes full of love,
that could have been towards him.
She cared when he stole a bite off his “plus 1’s” plate
and they bickered casualty

And they both cared,
when he asked her to dance
and rested his head on her shoulder,
fingers interwoven.
Old friends.
“Be happy, Okay?”
he whispers.
“I promise.”