The last kiss

September 30, 2009

We were alone, sitting on his couch, facing each other, talking. There was a pause in the conversation, the last words hung in the air and I knew he was going to reach for me. I closed my eyes and felt his lips press against mine. Then I felt his arms move around me to hold me. I waited to get swept into the kiss but it never happened.

I opened my eyes and watched him kissing me. His eyes closed. Still I felt nothing. Finally I broke the embrace and pulled back.

What was I doing here? Alone. With him. Months ago a call from him sent my heart aflutter. Weeks ago his kiss had the power to draw me in. Weeks ago I cooked in his kitchen and spent the night in his bed. But then he broke my heart.  

He still had the power to pull me in. Our texting had led me to his doorstep. As we talked what I realised is that I care about this man. I can accept him for who he is. I want him in my life. But as my friend.

  “We both need to move on.”

   “You don’t mean that.”

   “Bobby, I think we work best as friends. Don’t you?”

   “Is that really all you want from me?”

   “You aren’t ready to be the man I need. And I’m not ready to settle for anything else.”

We kept talking, about friends, about the kids, about life. He even tried again to move towards me but I dodged. It’s a funny thing, to actually see the realisation come across his face that his actions had finally pushed me far enough away he could no longer draw me back.

When I stood to leave, I kissed him quickly and walked away. This time he didn’t say “I’ll call you” a promise he had no intention of keeping. And I no longer had any expectation, any question of “I wonder if he means it THIS time.” I had broken the pattern. I felt nothing in his kiss and that felt good.


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