Never Been Kissed

Wintry, Black Moonlight

I sat up in my bed this brisk, December morning after waking up unusually early, thoughts endlessly drowning my mind. It was only 7 o'clock, and I couldn't help but feel like today was already going to be a waste.

I looked out the window at the flurries dallying through the dawn air like they were in no rush to reach the ground, pulling me that much more into the mindset of all things Christmas. How simple, I thought, to be a snowflake. The sun had barely even risen past the horizon, nevermind above the skyscrapers, so the air seemed to fill with this strange purple color, as the orange sunlight mixed with what remained of the wintry, black moonlight.

It was beautiful to watch the aging winter sun crawl up to her daily spot in the sky, as this felt like something I rarely had the time to do, even though I was never really doing anything at all to begin with.

I reached for the lock and undid it, opening the window just the slightest bit. The wind sang a strange melody as it passed through the little opening I'd created and cast inward a chilly breeze, brushing at my cheeks and making them blush. Some snowflakes even managed their way onto my bed as I sat cozily beneath the protection of my warm blankets, but melted just as quickly as they'd appeared.

My mind, as I began to fully awaken from the fog I felt I woke up in, started to reach out beyond its normal limits.

I realized that my birthday had just passed a few months ago in July and thought about how strange it is that our birthdays pass and, for a while, we feel the same; like nothing at all has changed. Eventually, after a few undoubted mistakes, we get used to saying the correct number when asked our age, and that's that. It's bizarre to me that I feel as though I'm just as far away from it now in both directions, yet I've just now gotten used to saying 'nineteen' when asked.

Nineteen.

My last year of being a teenager, huh? I'll never be here again, and that's also a strange concept, but one for another snowy morning.

The more I allow that number to float around in my brain, the more it begins to materialize in a very real sense, at least to me.

I mean, thinking about everything that's happened throughout my life, which isn't a lot, all things considered, I really am abnormal.

What I mean to say is, I feel like a weirdo.

Seriously.

Well, at least that there's something wrong with me in one way or another. I barely leave my house, especially in the winter, and I'm always home alone. Mom's at work most days really early until really late, and I've had Bucky- until recently... he's a little distracted, as I've come to notice, anyway, with his girlfriend and all.

Being alone seems like a serious contributing factor.

Okay, the point I've been trying to put to words for the past half hour now just doesn't want to show its face. I want to just think it or say it out loud, but it's embarrassing to actually admit.

I'll just say it. I'll think it- no, I'll write it down on a sliver of paper.

I, Steven Grant Rogers, at 19 years of age, have never had my first kiss.

I'm just glaring at this paper because there was a time a while back that Bucky would borrow my room randomly when mom wasn't home to 'hang out' with the dames he found god knows where to do god knows what.

He has no trouble finding girls to kiss, and he's even got a steady relationship going now, so why have I had so much difficulty?

Maybe people just... don't like me. Am I unlikable? Is that even possible? That's the only feasible thing that pops into my head and the more and more I stare at this paper with those damned words written on it, the more I want to get up and peer into a mirror to see what the hell could possibly be so unappealing about me that not one single damned person in this whole 7-million-person populated city - or even this 2.5-million-person populated borough - has even thought about kissing me.

I've not once had anyone show interest, so it must be true.

I'm unlikable.

No, maybe not even that. I like to think I'm a nice person and lots of people have told me I'm a nice person, even in high school or just at the store with mom when I was younger or even just Bucky or his younger sister Rebecca. So, it's not that I'm unlikable as a person, I see it now.

I'm just unattractive.

Ugly. Plain and simple, people aren't attracted to me for whatever reason. Why would they be? I'm small and scrawny and sickly and.... I get it now. I really, really do. It sucks and I understand that; but, I just have a singular follow up question in response to it all.

Why me?