It came as a shock, that memory, and as I pulled it out of its sepia toned solution, bathed in nostalgia, I saw that connected to that memory were two more that were similar, my brain had filed those moments away together and they came rushing at me, the sappy sentimental moments that I'd forgotten.
The first one was just recently, as I was obsessing over every detail between the singer and me, every moment that I should have known it was all too good to be true, except there weren't any and then I remembered, like a shockwave, when he turned and smiled down at me and took the hair covering my face between his fingers and swooped it away.
As if that weren't enough the magnetic disc quickly followed and I recalled the moment when I was turned toward him and the rush of our breaths precluded the exchange of words and our eyes locked and the tip of his finger stumbled through the air like an engorged bumblebee and he drew a line across my forehead, watching my bangs fall back into place before he whispered, "I like your fringe."
Almost like a gush of oil came the next one, which was buried deep down, the memories of the burnham I've been trying to forget, but it couldn't be contained and I was right back there on that couch, in that quiet apartment, in that territory of discomfort and hesitation and he was looking at me and I was looking at him and then he pushed a lock of my hair out of my face that had fallen there when I had laughed off one of his many compliments and looked down in shame and he pushed it away and told me I was beautiful.
Now all I can see is the ridiculousness of my supposed thresholds; how easily I was snake charmed.
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