Once, twice.

I know you won't care, but I still remember. That kiss, that rooftop. It was late. We were drunk. Was there a bear? Yes, a bear. A large bear, covered in green fake grass. You took my hand and led me away from everyone else. You took me behind that large green bear, to where no-one could see. You held a finger to your lips. I nodded. You smiled. We kissed. Your lips were soft. It was a kiss I'd dreamed about once. Ok, twice. It was our secret.

I kissed those lips for the next few weeks. You came to see me at work. We kissed. We went to a Festival together. We spent a whole night dancing, kissing, then spent the morning on a hill, watching the sun rise slowly over the mountains, sitting amongst discarded beer cans. You rested your head on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. Once. Twice.

The next night I came to find you at your tent. You weren't there. It was New Years Eve. We were meant to stand together. Wait, kiss together when the clock struck midnight and the coloured fireworks would burst over our heads. I had dreamed about it once. Twice. I looked for you everywhere. I never found you. You never answered your phone. The New Year came in. I was alone.

I later saw you in photographs from the Festival on the shoulders of some guy.

Was he your New Year's kiss then?