4th of July

It was the fourth of July.

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And we spent the entire night cloaked in your favorite star wars blanket, and we gazed at the specks of stars through your telescope, tracing constellations — was it Cassiopeia that we saw? I thought it was, but we wouldn't remember anyway, because we were too busy stealing glances at each other when we thought one of us isn't looking.

But you did, and that was why I hid most of my face from you — just so you wouldn't see how hard I was blushing. But you pretended not to notice, and told me me it was my turn to look through the telescope.

And I discovered that it really was Cassiopeia. "Wow. They're beautiful," I was so mesmerized looking at them, how close they were for my fingers to catch one and put in my pocket that I forgot you were probably bored of waiting for your turn.

But instead of taking the telescope away, your fingers brushed against my cheeks — I wondered if it was purely intentional, and I was so surprised that I almost jumped in fright. I looked at you — my heart thrashing wildly against my rib cage and saw your eyes twinkling facetiously under the stream of moonlight.

I stood still, afraid that if I move I would wake up in my bed, but this was real. We were real. This moment, right here. We were both still quiet, and I was about to ask what was happening, but didn't get a chance to because your tender fingers brushed lightly against my lips.

"God, you're beautiful." I couldn't remember how to breathe then, when you leaned in closer and closer and Oh my God, closer until our breaths were intermingling.

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And just like fireworks shooting up the sky, you kissed me, on the fourth of July.