Member-only story
Her Smile Lit Up My Skies
We were more than our ending.
I still remember the different ways your smile appeared.
Sometimes it would happen over something silly — like burnt toast in the morning when I was almost late to work. I’d hop from foot to foot while pouring myself a hasty cup of coffee, only to dribble some on my clean shirt, and you’d try so hard not to laugh. Your dimples would come out to play, and I would have no choice but to swallow my frustration and bring my lips to your cheek.
Other times, you would use a smile as your perfect mask. Only people who knew you — like I did — would recognize how you were swallowing down a less palatable emotion than front-facing contentment or ease. But when you were safely behind a closed door you’d let loose into a tirade, a rant for the ages, about the idiot who would invoke your ire. When I was with you, I would nod along just to show some kind of support at your rare outburst.
But it would pass. It always did. You were always the glass half-full type.
And then there were the times when I tried to steal a kiss in a public place and you’d turn your head ever so slightly to avoid the PDA. I would pout, you would smile, and then you would acquiesce and bring your lips to mine.
