Of Coffee, Cigarettes, and Hand-holding

No particular order.

One beautiful night, you invited me to walk around. I felt your hand approaching mine. Our skin touched lightly. I smiled and you grabbed my hand. You showed me the stars. I wasn't interested in them. I was staring at you.

You whispered something important. I pretended not to hear. You said it again. I was trying to look busy and focused. Your were staring at me, waiting for an answer. I wanted to dissipate instead I hugged you.

You sent a message. You wanted to have coffee. I hesitated because it was too cold out. I said yes because you were eagerly waiting. I didn't want coffee that night. I just wanted your kiss.

Every afternoon you were asking me to have coffee with you. It lasted for a month. I never said yes. I wanted to. I felt stupid and conscious in front you.

You took your pack of cigarettes from your pocket. We were using different brands. We compared notes, exchanged sticks, and shared one. I've never been happier to smoke with someone. That day I learned you are a wet smoker.

I watch you while you sleep. Your smell is addicting. I grabbed your hand and slept beside you. I'm never letting go.