Five years ago, your lips met mine for the very first time.
Between stolen glances, our hands brushing lightly and those eyes, my god, those eyes… you pulled me closer to you and it felt as if one million bolts rushed through every fiber of my being.
You tasted like those raspberries, and everything I’d ever wanted.
I swore by the moon that we made a spark when I finally pulled away.
But maybe Juliet was right when she said, “Swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that changes in her circled orb.”
Because one day, it did change.
And you bolted faster than you were once eager to kiss me.
Although I still thank my lucky stars for the time we shared.
But the next time I fall in love, you won’t hear me swear by the moon.