The sun was just setting over the hills, casting that familiar orange and pink glow across the sky. From where I was laying in the grass, staring up towards the now cotton candy looking clouds, I could still feel that summer heat, tickling my skin with sweat. That was July for you; blistering heat, leaving you searching for any shady spot, or cool waters, anywhere you could have some sort of relief. Yet, even knowing that, that the day was on fire like hell, I had ventured out of the air conditioning of my grandmother’s house, climbing the steep hill, and perching on the edge of the world to watch the sun set, to watch it catch the sky on fire.

Way off in the distance, the twilight was approaching, and soon stars would twinkle on the ocean, a reflection of the velvet night sky.

“Are you here all alone?” Someone behind me, a familiar voice, asked; shifting the weight of my body, I turned around and saw Monroe walking towards me, still dressed in his working clothing. He was sweaty too, his shaggy hair clinging to his forehead. I paused a second, even after he sat down beside me, resting on his hands, and staring towards the opened sky, the pink clouds passing over us, “it’s beautiful here, isn’t it.”

I nodded, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, and lowering the hem of my white cotton dress over my knees, “It is.” There was something about him, something in his raspy voice and shaggy hair, which made my hands tremble and my heart skip a beat whenever he was around. Gaining an ounce of courage, nothing more, I spoke up in my tiny, trembling voice, “It’s almost kind of romantic,” he glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow; maybe the romantic ideas were all in my head, but I spoke of them none the less, “Like some kind of old photograph of lovers, perched on the edge of the world.”

Monroe smiled, “I think you have something.” He glanced out, looking down the hill; the world beneath us, the town, was in motion, the light of their headlights visible. I wondered if anyone could see us from down there, but even if they could I knew no one would look up here. Sitting on this hill, it was like you had you own separated part of the world. It was just you, and that one other special person, and none of the other bullshit of the world applied to those couple moments; nothing else mattered.

“I love it up here,” I sighed, leaning back against the tall grass. “It makes me wish I could stay here forever.”

He leaned back on the grass beside me; the stars were coming out now, faintly visible against the dark blue canvas of the sky, “But what about those things you would miss?”

Looking right, I stared at him, and took a leap – a huge leap – from where I was comfortable, “I have everything I need right now.” I didn’t even know if he picked up on the longing tone in my words, or the way I was staring at him, dreaming of kissing those soft lips of his; I would have brushed the hair out of his eyes, leaned in, and closed the gap of distance between us, but only if I were someone else – the heroine in a story, the object of affection in an old photograph. Someone other than boring old me, a girl too scared to ever whisper sweet things into someone’s ear. Bending my knees, I dug my toes into the soft green grass, still watching Monroe and waiting for him to say something; when he didn’t say anything for a couple minutes, I broke the silence. Being scared of saying sweet things was better to face than the fear of awkward silences. “Would you stay with me?”

His eyes watched me, “For how long?”

Smiling, I answered: “Forever.” Even before I realized what I had said, he smiled in my direction, his hand reaching across the distance and taking mine.

“I thought you would never ask.”

And then, ever so gently, he leaned across the distance between us, not only closing it with his hand but with his strong body, and kissed me. It was like how I imagined kissing him, in everyway; he brushed the hair out of my eyes, brushing my lips with his own before taking me into his arms. Ever so gently, ever so sweetly; he never once, with words or gestures, implied he wanted anything more than to kiss me there, on that grassy hill, under the twilight sky.

In my mind, there is a photograph of that moment, captured in black and white; him closing the distance, lying on top of me without crushing me, one hand grasping the ground, propping his body up. The other rests on my cheek, gently stroking my flushed skin, as he leaned down to kiss. In my mind, he never gets there completely, the moment before, just before he completely closes the distance. There is that moment of wondering if it will happen, of closing your eyes and waiting to feel his lips on your own. And the anticipation, the seconds before I feel him again, makes my body quiver even more than knowing what he felt like against me.