Gnashing for Love

It was one of those nights where the light came up from below.

We dodged the flakes as I walked her home. Everything was illuminated, especially our faces. See, we had just shared something special with each other, something that warmed our hearts almost more than love itself could.

The streetlights helped lighten the night back into twilight, and we trekked back to her house – only a few blocks over. I loved her for holding my hand; I loved her for stopping and hugging me at any moment in time.

Not a word was spoken; we just let the evening manifest.

It seems so far away now. We were young and we were each passionate in our own ways. She was the muse, inspiring boys to be more than they ever could be without her – and I was the young poet and writer. No venomous words, no awkward stares – just comfortable silence and beautiful moments that snaked their way into infinite.

We stopped at the end of her driveway and shared a kiss. I told her that I loved her, quite clumsily. And she smiled and said the same thing. We pushed our frozen lips together again and then parted away…I walked backwards down the street until her house was no longer in sight.

It was at that moment that I realized that I was following our trail of footsteps in the snow, a set of two from her house all the way to mine – temporary proof that we had shared something special on that night.

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