his lips collided with mine at 120 awkward miles per hour, teeth hitting teeth, lips biting lips, nervous chuckles and ****** hands clashing together to make something beautiful

the way you want it to stop but don’t, the way you know you’ve found someone nice, the way you know it’ll end but part of you doesn’t care

maybe that’s being 21, running towards and away from commitment with every quick brush of the hand in anticipation something greater than like but less than dating

maybe that’s being 21, being okay with that, no expectations for the first time in a long time