I ran away from you the first time you tried to kiss me.
“You’re a coward!” you said.
I was scared.
Scared of myself.
There was a voice in my head telling me,
“Are you sure you want to get so close to him?”
I was hurt by everyone I got close to.
Maybe I’m a bad kisser.
Of course I am.
I’m inexperienced.

You’ve had multiple experiences.
And I was afraid you wouldn’t like it.
That’s what ran through my head when you tried to kiss me.
I thought it was best to keep postponing it.

Our first kiss was my first kiss ever.
The time before that doesn’t count.
It was a barbaric attempt that left me numb and disgusted.
But with you…
It didn’t scare me.
You smiled and laughed at my childness and naivety:
“Open your mouth.”
“Why?”
“Like this.”
“Ew, no.”
My self-confidence was back after it had been destroyed.

I thought that during sex, I’d discover more about you.
But I soon realized that I was discovering myself.
I was discovering my own body as if it was the first time for me to see it.

I would look at you and childishly tell you to hug me, and you would.
I felt like I was in the safest, calmest, most beautiful place in the world.
Time stops, like they say in movies.
It doesn’t really stop, though, it becomes unimportant.
It’s just a bunch of numbers.
When they move, I’m forced to leave that beautiful, soothing place:
Your arms.