….and then your lips touch, hers soft, gentle, sticky and sweet from the juice of a shared apple just picked from a tree and you can almost taste the color of her lips exactly matching her favorite shirt (the one that your arms are probably wrinkling right now, considering how tightly you are holding her) and you wish the world would stop spinning just for a moment or two; long enough for you to finish this kiss without disapproving looks and glares from mothers as they push their young daughters away from the spectacle and now you are no longer caught in the joy of the moment, and she knows something’s wrong, and, pulling back, she says to you, darling, I love you. And that’s all that matters. Still, you cannot shake the eternal sadness that comes from knowing that not everyone believes in your love.