He was never good with words when it came to her. So when they stood there, alone, only inches between them, he grabs her face like he always dreamt of and firmly plants his lips against hers. He kisses her for all the times he hurt her. He kisses her for every I’m sorry that wasn’t said. He kisses her for all the right reasons. Because she was the one he really wanted. There was no point in pretending any longer. The kiss was more than just the sweet lips of hers electrifying every atom of his. It represented all the “I miss you’s” he couldn’t bring himself to say to her. Maybe she would finally understand that she was the only thing he ever wrote about. So when their lips separated, the unsaid words hang in the air between them, because it was her.
It’s always been her.