matt-perdino

Happy birthday,_ he whispered, his breath landing warm and suddenly close to my lips, making my insides flip. And just as quickly as he__ surprised me with the cake, he kissed me, one frosting-covered hand moving from my hair to the back of my neck, the other solid and warm in the small of my back, pressing us together, my chest against his ribs, my hip bones just below his, the tops of our bare summer legs hot and touching. I stopped breathing. My eyes were closed and his mouth tasted like marzipan flowers and clove cigarettes, and in ten seconds the whole of my life was wrapped up in that one kiss, that one wish, that one secret that would forever divide my life into two parts. Up, down. Happy, sad. Shock, awe. Before, after. In that single moment, Matt, formerly known as friend, became something else entirely. I kissed him back. I forgot time. I forgot my feet. I forgot the people outside, waiting for us to rejoin the party. I forgot what happens when friends cross into this space. And if my lungs didn__ fill and my heart didn__ beat and my blood didn__ pump without my intervention, I would have forgotten about them, too. I could have stayed like that all night, standing in front of the sink, Matt__ black apple hair brushing my cheeks, heart thumping, lucky and forgetful_