Last night, I dreamed of a first kiss.
It was between myself and this guy I know. In real life, he’s not that attractive (to me) and even more socially unept than I am. Our knowledge of each other (we don’t even see each other enough to use the most platonic and blase turn of the word “relationship”) is I suppose what you might call professional.
A few months ago, I let him down. I guess. It’s one of those times where looking back, you wish you did something different but for the love of fuck you still don’t know what that something is.
So he showed up in this dream, in a relatively realistic manner of our situation. Except there was this undenying romantic attraction between us. And somehow I ended up at his house. And we kissed.
And it was awesome.
It didn’t surprise me to have this dream. Somehow, perhaps, my psyche was trying to right the wrong – give him some attention he didn’t get in the real life scenario.
It also didn’t surprise me how much I enjoyed that first kiss. I miss first kisses a lot. I know I’m not supposed to say that and I am a horrible wife for it, but it’s true. I was good at first kisses, first dates, first months, first sleep overs. Yeah, yeah, the details get muddy for everyone over time. But at least I can admit that just because I’ve said happily-ever-after doesn’t mean I don’t remember the journey to get here was fun.