I extend my arms to your sheepish form, grad robes and mortarboard slightly askew. You’ve worked hard, I think, to finish your degree., and I’ll miss you, I think, staying on to get my M.F.A., and I’m probably sweating from the sunshine, I think, as you pull my lips to yours all too suddenly, grinning all-too-wide.
We haven’t kissed since the first time. Since you told me you couldn’t see anyone on your course—even if you really, really wanted to.
Winter turned to spring turned to fall and it’s winter anew and I’m suddenly melting in your arms, shocked beyond surprise. You’re still grinning when you pull away.
“I’m still on course,” I gasp, wondering if I’ll laugh or cry when this ocean of adoration I’ve kept raging for you tips over. You reach up and move your tassel over, a cheeky afterthought, and say, “I’m not.”
This time I kiss you, launching up against your chest, taking your head in my hands, tugging too tightly at the auburn twists springing up from your scalp. All this time, I thought I was the only one holding on to these little butterflies, but the way you wrap your arms around my back and pull me up closer tells me you’ve been saving the feelings you once told me you shoved deep down in a box in your heart.