Loving Love

Flash Fiction, a short story written in 100 words or less.

We are holding hands, both clammy and awkward but neither willing to let go.

Young love is as much about stubbornness as it is about infatuation. Who will let go first? It is a game of adolescent chicken.

I lick my lips, grimacing at their chapped surface. Putting on chap-stick seems too premediated, too expectant, but I worry about their roughness.

I would have to let go of your hand to find the chap-stick.

A slight breeze ruffles your hair. Butterflies jump in my stomach, nervous and delighted and sick all at the same time.

I love being in love.


Young Love

Lovers’ feet tangled under a layer of sand, the toes sticking out breathing in the salty wind. Everything is entwined, everything is touching.

We love like young lovers, no patience for each caress; hurrying and stumbling, desperate for touch, desperate for love and affection. We don’t enjoy it like we used to, no longer will you wipe the hair out of my eyes and kiss my brow, smiling sweetly like a boy in love. No longer will I hug you tightly – unwilling to let our bodies stop touching for even a second, kissing your neck and whispering words of love.

These things we took so much for granted that we rarely notice them disappearing.