Again he was drunk. Again walking him home. Our arguing and banter. His unexpected sweetness came through my uncomfortable emotional comments. He kissed me on University. Home at last. Both on the couch and he fumbled to find something to smoke. I will not think about his kiss; not for the last 2 1/2 years. It is 3am. Stay or go? His shoulders shrug. Half on the couch, half off, attempting to look at his face and eyes directly. Stay or go? Finally, I’m in those eyes. He took my hair out of my face, pulled me in, and kissed me.
I mustered the courage and entered the above paragraph in a competition in a local publication for a fictional story (not poetry) on really any subject matter but could only be 101 words. I have never submitted my writing for any competition. I do not expect to win. In fact I think my piece is a bit overly romantic. Because life never happens like that ever on a Sat night/Sun morning a scant week ago in Sept.