It's just his way.

He is an affectionate person with everyone. When he has had a few drinks that affection magnifies. Then, when he hugs me hello and kisses me on the top of my head (as very few can do due to my height), well, I on the inside, I purr and want to hold him even closer.

But my realistic nature comes to the fore and awkwardly judges the shortest time deemed polite before disengaging myself. In part this is so noone suspects my feelings, and in part so I don't embarrass him by turning his innocent gesture into something that might make him feel sullied. And of course, in part it is to protect myself from the pain of being tempted by something I can never truly know.

In a dream world I would place my hand on his as he rested it on my knee, in a concerned moment during our conversation, and I would lean into him and gently kiss him on the lips. But instead, I shift in my seat to move out of his reach before that physical contact causes me to blush. For I know that in those seconds, as I leaned towards him, he would pull away from me, confused, flustered, and possibly hurt, and he'd have no idea why I'd just done what I had. And I would be mortified by the ramifications of that one indiscreet, impetuous moment. I would never have thought that an imagined kiss could ever again fill me with such anticipation and fear.

A brief kiss cannot be worth a friendship. It's a foolish thing to even ponder. Except in the safety of this blog where I'm free to let flights of fancy fill my screen.