Puddle Jumping
Amber L. Johnson
Sometimes change makes you sit up and pay attention, opening your eyes to so many new things, it's as if you'd been asleep for the first eighteen years of your life.
Plans change.
Life changes.
And as an after effect, love changes, too.
The night was chilly, but clear, and I vividly remember looking up at the stars, my chest swelling and filling up to the point of almost bursting because I loved him so much. I loved him with a physical ache in my chest.
Love? Sometimes it's so big it hurts.
What I'd really like to stress about this is when you love someone, their differences fall away. I don't look at him and see anything but him, and how sweet he is. I know how my stomach erupts in excitement when he simply holds my hand. How my heart reacts when we kiss. I know, above anything else, that when we're together, it's because we both want it. Not because of any other reason.
He kissed me. Warm and soft. Gentle at first until his lips had acclimated to mine. It wasn't like any kiss I'd ever experienced before because my knees felt nonexistent and I wanted to fall, taking him with me in a pile on the ground so I could curl into him and never let go.
But life isn't really about just getting by. Right when you're lulled yourself into a false sense of security, it likes to throw in a plot twist.