A late night walk

By Matt Bernier

When he knew that she was looking at the stars, he turned to her. He never thought her more beautiful than in that moment in the moonlight. He watched her stare at the heavens, her mouth slightly open. He wanted to kiss her—with everything that he had. He knew it would be perfect, that she would put her arms around him and kiss him back. He had wanted for so long to feel her soft lips, and now was his chance.

He hadn’t intended to take her out here and kiss her, but it had worked out that way. He looked back at the stars for courage then stepped around to face her, watching her watch the sky as he did. When he pulled her into him, he turned his head to the side and kissed her.

She had seen him move. Though it had taken him barely a second, it seemed like eternity. She knew what was coming. Her heart picked up the pace even though it had been racing since they started on the walk. When he pulled her close to him and his lips feathered hers, she pushed her body against him.

Neither had known until the second it happened that it was going to. And it was perfect, and they both knew it. They stood there awhile, under the moon and the stars, and just held each other and kissed, and knew that this was right, that this was why they couldn't sleep tonight and why they went on this walk.

All the waiting and anticipation, the talking and laughing, and all the time they had spent together, came together in a single moment—a star-lit moment between two people who had independently wished for it a hundred times, and knew it wouldn't until it was right. Now, it was right, and it happened, and they kissed, and they held each other. They didn’t have to pretend anymore, want or long anymore. They knew that it was exactly as things should be.

Matt Bernier is a student at the University of Missouri in Columbia. This is an excerpt from a short story of the same title.

Today’s poem:

keeping the past

in the small shop,

he does the books,

he pencils a number,

moves a little in a his chair

a dim clutter of wardrobes,

pictures of marching bands,

graduating classes,

sons gone to war

moves with him

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