It was near the end. You were doing homework in bed and I leaned over to kiss you. For the first time in a long time, you actually kissed me back. After, I made a joke about onions. You had said something earlier in the day about the sandwich you were eating, the onions, and I was responding to that.
You got angry. You said I had ruined the first real kiss we’d had in weeks. I realize now why you got so angry. You saw that kiss as something out of the ordinary, something different, something strange. Momentous because of its difference.
I saw it as ordinary, the way things should be. It wasn’t that kiss that bothered me, but all the ones that came before, the twisted mockery of a kiss that we’d been sharing for weeks. With this kiss being so normal and right, I treated it like it was no big deal. To you, for whom the kiss was momentous, it seemed to cheapen the kiss.
Looking back, I wish I hadn’t made the joke. I wish I had understood then how differently we felt about that kiss. Maybe it could have helped. Probably not, but maybe. I don’t know if you’ll read this, but I had to write it, get it out of my head. I’m hoping it shows progress. Shows that I’m getting better at understanding other people. But if it takes me 6 months, what’s the use?