I'm still here, hoping.

The entrancing scent of smoke and mint combined with the sound of your heart beating beneath your shirt: faster, faster, faster. The forcefully tender way you smoothed back my hair and our fingertips colliding again and again and again. I reached my arms around you and you pulled me closer, our hands meeting halfway. The collapse as our bodies released all tension. You adjusted your face close to mine and our noses touched. The centimeters between our lips were just a barrier for you to overcome, while for me they were a buffer zone that spoke of my romantic ideals and fear of disappointment. As I felt the approach of your hand under my chin, beckoning me in, I turned my lips in on themselves in apprehension of disaster.