The Summer We Stayed a Secret

The summer I turned seventeen , I was free. I was reckless. And I was hopelessly in love with her.

I craved her the way I craved air after a panic attack. Looking back, the road that led me to her almost never happened. That night, I felt like I was crawling out of my skin. I needed to escape, so I took a stroll beneath the moonlight while thunder rolled louder than the chaos inside my head.

Had I stayed home, had I ignored the ache beneath my skin, I never would have crossed paths with the girl who taught me just how intoxicating a secret love could be.

After everyone else had gone to sleep, the world belonged to us. We met beneath the quiet sky, stealing moments that were never meant to be ours. There were words we almost said, hands that reached too far on several erotic occasions. Every heartbeat felt like a risk, every goodbye like a promise we weren’t sure we’d be able to keep.

She quieted the storms inside me in ways no one else ever could, yet somehow she set every part of me on fire at the same time. Ours was a romance that was wild, forbidden, and unforgettable. She led me down a road that opened my eyes to the beauty, tenderness, and longing that could exist in the simple brush of another person’s touch.

To this day years after the romance ends sometimes I’ll stare out my window, at the moonlight and my thoughts drift to her.