The grass prickles at my back through the thin material of my dress. Even through my sunglasses, the glaring sun burns my eyelids. An insect keeps buzzing near my left ear no matter how many times I try to swat it away.
But all of these details are inconsequential, because my right arm is slightly brushing against yours.
I'm not sure whether it's accidental that I can feel the back of your hand against mine. As ridiculous as it may be for all my attention to be drawn to the slightest touch, I can't help it.
When you initially suggested meeting up at the park opposite your house, I wondered what we would do. Now, I understand that just lying side by side under the baking sun is enough.
Out of nowhere, you speak. "What are you thinking?"
I feel myself smile. This is always what you ask in quiet moments. Sometimes I tell the truth: I'm hungry; that I need to revise for the test I've got on Friday; whether I remembered to lock the front door this morning. Sometimes I lie.
Right now, it would be so easy to lie. Not much, you? Easy, uncomplicated. No threat to whatever this is we have going on between us.
But my hand is itching to hold yours and maybe yours is too. So, with a shaky breath, I tell the truth. "I think I might be falling in love with you."
