by Lissette Diaz
I wanted you to know that even though you won't really listen to me, you should know I still think of times we shared. Like that time we were sitting at the edge of the river and you and I were talking and I said something funny and you said to yourself (out loud), "Wait Will, why aren't you kissing her," and then you kissed me. Although it wasn't the first time we'd kissed, it was the first time I realized I was falling for you; we kissed as we sat on that bench; even though it was dark and chilly I wasn't cold in your arms. I remember thinking how your smile lit up your face, and you mentioned how unintentionally romantic the night had turned out as we walked back to your house to do shots of bad tequila as you nervously showed me pictures of you and your friends on your fridge, and I felt like I never wanted to go home. So we sat in your room and cuddled and watched Malcolm in the Middle and told each other our darkest secrets and our silliest dreams; we kissed and we held each other softly, as if there was no need to do anything else. You'd probably have me believe that you share times like that with all the girls, right?
Lissette Diaz is a native New Yorker, pet owner, art lover, and self-proclaimed solitude junkie. She's the author of Enough.