I was reading Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell, when I read this:
She’s standing in a parking lot. And she’s standing under a streetlight. And her hair’s so blond, it’s flashing at you. It’s burning out your retinas one fucking cone at a time. She leans forward and grabs your T-shirt. And she’s standing on tiptoe now. She’s reaching for you. She smells like black tea and American Spirits—and when her mouth hits your ear, you wonder if she remembers your name.
and was hit by the inspiration to write so hard I literally had to stop reading and just write. So here’s what that inspired:
She’s standing under the streetlight staring straight at me. She’s so mad but she’s still so fucking beautiful. Her striking green eyes glitter in the light, you can see where she’s been biting her lip, her makeup is smeared at the edges. She’s got this amber-colored hair with red highlights that is curly and just falls everywhere and is a mess, but in a good way. In a way that just makes you want to bury your hands in it and kiss her like her kisses are oxygen and you can’t breathe. In a way that makes you want to fall asleep combing through it. And she’s so fucking mad at me and all I can think is, “oh my god you’re so beautiful.”
“Are you even listening to me?!” she shrieks, shoving me backward. I stumbled back a few steps and she teeters on her heels. “What are you thinking? What is so important that you’re just staring at me instead of just. Listening. To. Me.” She chokes back a sob, and it’s like I can literally feel my heart crack, and she must see it, because her lip trembles more.
“You are so beautiful,” I tell her. “You’re so pissed and it’s adorable because the way you stamp your feet and the click of your heels when you do it. You’re so hurt and still there’s light in your eyes. You have bite marks on your lip and your makeup is smeared and your hair is a mess. You’re so perfect, because you’re you. You don’t want to be perfect, you just want to be happy.”
She bites her lip to keep from crying and sways in her heels again. As I step to her, she grabs my shirt and twists her fists into it like she’ll fall and never get back up if she doesn’t. And she just collapses against my chest and sobs. Right there in the street with you and you and you walking by ignoring us or looking over concerned-like or walking your dog. Right there under the streetlight on a random street on a random night at a random time. And it’s perfect, because it is so unexpected and real.
“You are so perfect, even now,” I tell her. She sobs harder against my chest, and it’s okay. It’s a moment. A story to tell. A key point. She’s so sad and hurt and pissed and still she’s here and crying. She made it. She never thought she would, but she did.
She eventually calms down, and I cradle her to my chest still, where she belongs. She pulls back and looks back into my eyes and her mischief is back. The gold flecks in her green eyes that mean she is here and she is okay. She looks not just at me but into me. She is the girl who does not look at you, but looks at your soul. The girl who makes you wonder if she even remembers your name, but of course she does, because that’s who she is.
Her mouth is against my ear and her breath is warm and sends tingles down my spine. I can feel her against me and in every part of my very being. I am paralyzed standing here with my hands on her hips holding her against me as she pins me to the pole under the streetlight, leaning her weight against me and trusting me not to let her fall in her heels. Paralyzed in the best possible way because this is trust and it is so real and so very now.
Her mouth is still against my ear and she moves it so our mouths are millimeters apart. She barely breathes against my mouth “I love you so much” and brushes her lips to mine and it’s like I go from frozen to thawed in a second and I’m pulling her against me and deepening the kiss and not caring that you and you and you are walking by and seeing. Because this is now and real and perfect.
And in this moment, everything is perfect in the most imperfect way.
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