I’m glad…you texted.
I want you to be my last kiss of the year and the first of next
I dream about people who don’t need to have sex to know they love each other. I dream about people who would only ever kiss you on the cheek.
His breathing was heavy, and full of life. He shivered still, his hand finding Katty unsteady and unprepared of what was going to come next.
“I hurt you!
Frames 221 to 223: The motorcade is now in front of the camera lens, moving ever so slowly.
The President and First Lady are waving to the crowd. The President almost stands up to send kisses to a few ladies in the front rows, but the First Lady holds him by the arm.
The President sits back comfortably in his Lincoln. He is enjoying himself terribly.
He took her into his arms again, using all his strength to be gentle, and let his lips touch hers so lightly he could hardly feel it.
That kiss was everything. She didn’t fight it and I gave her what I needed to give her – my heart.
There’s a pause so yawning I can’t help but think about what it would be like to lean in and kiss her, but if I’m getting the signals wrong then I’m about to destroy the best run we’ve had all evening. It’s been at least ten minutes since I’ve done or said anything stupid.
And it sucks, because I want to kiss her. It’s infuriating how perfect it would be to kiss her right now, perched on a cannon on a pirate ship under the stars. That sounds like something off the pages of an adventure novel. But my life isn’t one of those stories. My story is a hurricane, and here with Swift is just the eye.
Let me get this straight. The future of our relationship hinged on advice from a fifteen-year-old girl, a probably untrue story from a one-eyed Chihuahua trainer, and me unromantically – yet skillfully – kissing you on top of silverware and china?