Here I chance upon the sparkling clasp of a coral reef
tracing the chain from one atoll to the next.

So I did. I asked because there was no other answer to the conundrum of my waking hours.

And you, although perhaps caught out, as if by a sudden summer downpour, cautiously opened that window to me. I was so thrilled yet so terrified in the throes of change, tiptoeing around the core of my wishes, afraid to overstep the boundaries we'd yet to lay.

All we did on the first date was walk. As we hurried by jetties and deserted alleys, I felt a gap between us and I thought I had messed up, that we needed to talk again about what we wanted and expected.

But the next day, in the theatre, you held out your hand to mine. That simple gesture, I mistook for a plain request at first. Then, it dawned on me that you were just as confused as I—unsure of how to chart this journey, or where we were even going. But even so, you were taking a tentative first step, with me, towards that yet-shapeless future. So I reached out back to you, to take your hand.

Two days later…we did talk. For ten hours. We asked and answered and probed, and by way of analysis we came to a common ground. We discussed demographic graphs and cuddled on my couch. We walked ten kilometres, across Story Bridge, past a book swap, up steep slopes to a clifftop from which all of the incandescent Valley could be seen.

As the days began to gain a tinge of golden warmth, I waited at the Cultural Centre for the 180. Like a bee to nectar I was drawn back to that house on Turquoise Street with the leaves rustling against the windows, a place now left behind. There on your couch, we seemed to melt into each other’s touch, sinking deeper under covers, till you asked for permission to kiss me.

It was not my first time kissing, and yet in that moment, I forgot. It all fell away. Everything seemed new, like I had never kissed before, and I was a fumbling amateur again, breathless, seeing the world through brand new eyes.

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