And then you think of the first time you met. And you remember what babies you were. Fresh out of your own parents’ home. And you think of how you wandered around each other for months. Both waiting for the other to get disentangled from now-forgotten other people. And you think of how long you waited for that first kiss. And you hold on to it. And again, you think of the last time you saw her, and you think of the after-coffee kiss on the cheek. So casual. So see-you-next-time. And you try not to think about how that was your last one. And you hold on to that as well.
And you sit there quietly.
This entire piece tore me apart from the first to last sentence.
Oy, my heart.
The greatest feeling in the world is having a cat walk on your back.
And the worst feeling in the world is having a cat walk on your front. Pointy cat feet + breasts = torture.