Last night reminded me of when M and I were 22. We were tired from Sunday night and went to bed early. As we lay on our pillows, face to face, foreheads touching in an embrace, our talk inevitably gravitated to the activities the night before. We talked about how we each felt, what we were thinking throughout, our favorite parts, and parts which we could improve upon. Then, we kissed – those same kisses from that first night in my dorm room all those years ago. Those same warm, deep, all-consuming kisses, the ones which inspire hope. Our kisses began as those kisses did all those years ago, but last night, they weren’t just ‘getting to know you’ kisses. Each one was a word, stringing together a sentence, telling a story. It’s a story we both understand, better than ever before. It’s a story that begins with these kisses, but has no end. It is a story of hope.
We added one rule – we will make out every day. Each kiss a reminder, another word in a sentence in the story of us. Each kiss a little bit of remembrance and a little bit of hope, passing between us.