If I were in this situation a few months ago, I would turn my nose. But today I'm in a good mood and more forgiving than normal, and also so incredibly lonely. 

Looking at Aurora, I slowly nod my head and pack my things up before I head out the door onto the patio.

Sometimes, at night, I've dreamt of us reuniting, where I'm running to her, asking for her to forgive me. She kisses me, we make up, and then I wake up in my bed, remembering that reality will never be true.

Today feels different. I don't rush to Aurora. Rather, I awkwardly make my way to her, utterly confused, but also so utterly happy that I don't know much of what to say.

"I thought you were at school," is all I manage to get out.

"I just got out of classes," she admits. "I was going to head to your house, but I figured I'd stop here first, and—well, nevermind. Um, can we head to the park? I want to talk to you."

"Okay," I say without another thought.

The walk to the park is strange and foreign. Our walks home together used to feel so comforting and lively, but I sense a strange distance between us. Neither of us has much to say to each other, but I'm guessing that Aurora probably wants to wait until we're at the park to properly talk. We both seem to walk a little faster just to get there sooner.

The clouds are starting to roll over, meaning that the kids and their parents have all headed home for fear of a coming rainstorm. I take a seat on an empty swing and push myself back and forth just slightly, watching as my feet barely touch the bark below me while Aurora stands in front of me. I can't figure out her expression. Whether she's embarrassed, flustered, upset, or just cold, it's hard to tell.

"I came out," she says.

"I know," I reply, not sure what else to say.

"It was hard," Aurora continues. "It was harder than I thought it would be."

"Why did you do it? And...why are you here? You should be out of state, at a private college. That's what you wanted, right?" I ask.

"I go to the community college. I didn't feel quite ready to leave yet. I still had some things to do," Aurora admits to me.

"I never saw you all summer. I used to walk Fry by your house, but I never saw you..."

"I worked a lot," Aurora says. "At a bookstore the next town over. I didn't want to risk running into you. But I did see you when you walked him...sometimes. I'd just peek the curtain open slightly. You never seemed to notice."

"Oh," I realize, blushing some. That was news to me, and now I suddenly feel a bit like a stalker. "But I don't understand," I continue. "You had fantastic grades. Did you not get into the colleges you wanted to?"

"I did. But like I said, I decided it wasn't right for me to leave yet," Aurora says. Her arms are close together, her fingers intertwined, and I can tell this conversation is hard for her. It's difficult and awkward for me too. It's hard for us to try to converse like normal when we haven't spoken to each other in so long.

"I'm sorry," Aurora says quietly, like a whisper in the wind, but loud enough for me to hear it.

"What are you apologizing for? I should be—"

"Callie, stop. You don't need to apologize," Aurora says before I can continue. "Coming out was hard. I told my parents first. They were really shocked, and I cried for a few days about it, but they came to understand that it didn't matter. I was still their daughter deep down. I was really grateful that my friends were completely understanding. They were a bit surprised, but they never looked at me differently. I know you didn't get those same experiences. I know you had it worse, and yet, it was still so hard. My hand was shaking so hard when I posted on Instagram. I almost deleted it as soon as I posted it."

"Why did you do it?" I ask quietly.

"You know why," she murmurs. The wind flows between us, and Aurora stares up at the sky. "I saw you at graduation. Just briefly. You came."

"But I didn't stay."

"No. I didn't expect you to."

"I should have. And I should have gone to your graduation party, but I was letting my own feelings get in the way and—I was a big jerk," I admit.

"No, you weren't."

"Yes I was," I say once more. "It was wrong of me to think that you would come out so soon after I did. I'd already dealt with the internalized homophobia for years. I was starting to get over it, so it wasn't as hard for me, but I should have known what you were going through. I shouldn't have been encouraging you to come out like that, when it was so hard myself."

"I didn't comfort you," Aurora says quietly. "That really struck me when you said that. Because I didn't comfort you. I just focused on myself. I didn't know I could be so selfish. Coming out myself really made me feel sorry for you. I can't imagine how hard it was for you, and I didn't offer you any solace."

"Well, you didn't really know everything so—"

"It wasn't acceptable. A partner should be encouraging and supportive, and I just left you to fend for yourself," Aurora complains.

"We weren't dating so—"

"We were pretty much dating, Callie."

So she admits it, I think. I blink a few times at that statement, because that is an improvement. Months ago, she would have never said something like that.

"Do you forgive me?" Aurora asks.

"Yes," I say without another thought. Because even if I went through so much pain these past few months, I realize I was in the wrong too, that there were things we both didn't understand about each other, and things we regretted saying. 

"Do you forgive me?" I ask.

"Of course. I was never angry at you to begin with. I was mad at myself," Aurora admits. "I wanted to be there for you, but...I could barely be there for myself."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

Silence sits between us, and I'm not sure what to say next. Should I ask about college? Or the post itself? Or why we're here sitting and talking in the park? I'm not sure where I should take the conversation when--

"Callie, I love you," Aurora says.

I let go of my grasp on the swings and sit, my mouth agape. I was planning to tell her today. That was for certain, but to hear her say that before...

"That was really embarrassing, I'm sorry!" Aurora exclaims, covering her face with her hands.

I laugh some. It's the first I've laughed in front of her in months. I step down from the swing and walk across the bark toward her.

"I was planning to tell you this anyway, but when I walked away that day, it was because I loved you too much to fool around like that. And it's been so hard these few months knowing that I loved you, but not being able to tell you, and knowing that I probably ruined everything—"

"Can I kiss you?" Aurora asks.

"H-Here?!" It's the first time she's ever suggested something like this in public, where anyone could see us, and I realize suddenly that she has changed. There's no doubt in my mind what the answer to the question is, so, I take a deep breath and nod.

Her touch feels foreign first. It's been a long time since her fingers have caressed the softness of my cheeks like this, but then the sensation becomes familiar again, and I close my eyes as her lips gravitate toward mine. I had nearly forgotten what her lips had tasted like, I think, when she moves her lips against mine. My hands grasp firmly around her back, and I can feel her fingers moving through my hair. Neither of us wants to break the kiss, but eventually, we're both out of breath, and we break apart. I immediately start to cry.

"What's wrong?!" Aurora asks, cupping my cheek. "I'm sorry. Did that bother you?"

I shake my head and bury my head into her chest. She seems surprised, but then gently runs a few fingers through my hair and holds me tight to her.

"I told you not to make any college decisions because of me," I manage to say through the tears.

"I'm sorry. I told you I wouldn't," Aurora says. I let go of her and stare up at her, just as she leans down to kiss a few tears away from my cheeks and eyes. The feel of her lips just gently brushing my eyelid are strange yet comforting.

"So...now what?" I ask.

"Will you be my girlfriend, Callie? Officially?" Aurora asks.

I cry again, which worries her, but a nod of my head against her informs her that it's a yes, and she cries too. Loving someone, the feeling of being loved, is scary and foreign, but also so warm and comforting, that it's something I cling onto with my dear life. Holding Aurora close to me in this park makes me never want to let go again.