To The Boy I Kissed

I had always envisioned my first kiss would be like a scene from a movie, full of butterflies and destiny. Instead, it was a performance at a sunny corner, surrounded by too many friends and the all-crushing weight of expectations. I didn't love him, and when I looked back, I realize I only went through with it to prove that I could—to show them, and myself, that I was competent after a deeply painful event. I gave that cheap kiss to a boy I barely knew, and the regret isn't about the act itself, but the lie it represented. Now, years later, I just want to know if he too remembers the awkward pressure, the way I do.