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“No es que muera de amor, muero de ti.
Muero de ti, amor, de amor de ti,
de urgencia mía de mi piel de ti,
de mi alma, de ti y de mi boca
y del insoportable que yo soy sin ti.”
– Jaime Sabines
Tina was overwhelmed. She wanted to drop to her knees and beg Bette to forgive her. Beg her to hate her, to love her, to keep her, to scream at her. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted, but she wanted something, anything.
“Can I…” Bette hesitated, and Tina felt her heart tremble. She was paralyzed by the fear that Bette would somehow regret this, whatever this was.
She was afraid Bette would regret her.
“Yes?” Tina asked slowly, watching Bette take a deep breath in and out.
In and out. In and out. In and out.
“Can I kiss you?” Tina’s eyes widened. She had to have heard wrong. She had to. So she asked her if she was sure. She wouldn’t survive if Bette kissed her and then regretted it.
But Bette wanted to know. And god, how could Tina ever deny her that?
How could Tina ever deny her anything at all?
So they stood before each other, their eyes locked in silent conversation; their eyes whispering what their mouths couldn’t. She saw Bette hesitate, her heart racing as she reached out a trembling hand to touch Tina’s cheek. She leaned into the touch, closed her eyes, and let out a shaky breath.
Being around her ex-wife was as intoxicating as ever; she wanted to burn the memory of that moment into her eyelids so she could see it every time she closed her eyes.
Their lips met in a tentative kiss, soft and hesitant, as if trying to remember what it felt like to be close; as if trying to see if the broken pieces of themselves still fit together. But as the seconds ticked by, fear was replaced by longing and familiarity, and their worries melted away at the taste of home.