You didn't kiss me, and I didn't kiss you, but there was the unspoken knowledge that you were about to break up with her. That you were about to be mine.

Of course, I'll always remember the many nights afterwards, when you could kiss me and I could kiss you, when I fell asleep listening to the softness of your breathing, the slow rise and fall of your chest. But that first night, when it rained and rained and, standing in my pink skirt, I understood love, is the night I'll think of the most.