Dribble-Drabble

Originally titled: "Oops. You've got a little drabble on your keyboard there."

And as we sit here, staring up at the stars, I have to wonder:
Was this really meant to be?
Our hearts beat together. I can feel it and I know you can too. But our minds race in different directions on a circular track; they are bound to crash, sending us both up in a fiery blaze, not of glory, victory, or fame, but of hopelessness.
Hopelessness and failure.
So often are we like this; we sit together, our bodies practically one with as close as we sit, but our minds so very far from each other. I think of you often. Do you think of me? It would seem not with the way you refuse to look at me and at the times you do it takes you almost an eternity to recognize me. Have you forgotten my face? The face you so often complemented. The face you fell for. The face you love to touch and kiss and wake up to no matter if you wake in the morning or at some godawful midnight hour due to some godawful nightmare. You have those a lot. And I wonder if that’s what you think about as I sit here thinking about you once again.
“I love you.”
Your words scare me and I reflexively jump back before I can comprehend what you’ve said. You take offense to this, but I surely meant none. I beg for your forgiveness, move to your lap and kiss you all over the way you used to let me. You would laugh then, not stifle it like you do now. The squeak you let out tells me you won’t last much longer. I continue, moving my hands to the oh-so-sensitive sides of your abdomen where your ribs end and your flesh fans out to cover your hips. You finally do it. You break. And you laugh. It creates white wisps as your warm breath hits the cold air. And for the first time in ages, I allow myself to smile. I’ve craved your laugh for so long. Now I laugh too. And I stop tickling you, but you continue to laugh. It’s okay though, because so do I. You fall back on the crisp grass and keep laughing, like you’ll never stop. I’m okay with this. But I have to press pause. Not with my finger on the button of a remote, but with my lips on yours. As suspected, you stop laughing; and I take the opportunity to confess.
“I love you too.”
[You smile and we kiss again.]

Written in 33 minutes, 431 words long, several typos not including punctuation.
Product of severe boredom. Con. Crit accepted. Bitching not.