He kisses her.
He kisses her fingertips at 11:55 when the air of excitement thrums through his veins like a drum, pounding away each final minute of one more year theyâve shared together.
He kisses her knuckles at 11:56, taking his time to feel the rougher texture of the creased skin against his lips. They still feel like silk laid against sandpaper and rock.
He kisses her wrists at 11:57, relishing the beat of her pulse. It drives into him and becomes his own, and he cannot determine which of their hearts began beating first.
He kisses her shoulders at 11:58, and her scent pulls him in. She smells of fresh waves and water clear enough to see through to the sandy bottom.
He kisses her neck at 11:59 and in it is passion and desire and the urge to be. Life has not been the same since he met her, and he dares to suggest that perhaps it never even existed before.
He kisses her lips at 12:00, and although the world has rocketed forward into a new year, his has stopped in that single moment. And he understands what resolutions are meant for. And the fireworks in the sky pale in comparison to every time she looks at him. And her smile puts an entire year of promise and hope to shame.
And he kisses her.
