Kiss Me Like You Mean It

My love is poison. His kiss is mine.

“The first time he saw me I was shattered glass, and he was a shadow. If I had stayed, he would have just faded away.”

It’s strange how easy it is to tell our stories to a stranger’s eyes. The truth about Connor Stratford and I had always been a sad tale. Over ten years of chasing, tears, lies, vows, and leaving. Two people who never loved each other at the same time, but couldn’t let each other go.

Now here I was telling our story over drinks midday in an airport bar with my old diary clutched in my hand. Telling some version of our story, anyway.

I left him once with no goodbye. Now I was returning home to give him what he needed to move on.

“It’s important. It’s what you’re thinking.”

I knew what his message meant, sent in the middle of the night after I woke from a fever dream.

He was finally ready, and so was I. I just needed to finally give him the kiss he begged for.

The one that meant goodbye.