I remember Nolan's and my first kiss. I was so nervous. But Nolan was nothing but encouraging.

This time, as I stare up at him, I can tell he's the nervous one. And I'm not sure if I can bear being encouraging.

The night of our first kiss, he took me to a new park. That was where we frequented: parks. The open space made it easier for me to think.

This particular park was dominated by green, freshly mowed grass, which was perfect because we had come for the soul purpose of gazing at the stars. I knew something was special about this park because he insisted on princess carrying me from his moped to the chosen plot of grass.

He didn't let go of my hand the whole time we stared up at the darkening sky. Finally, he turned to me.

"Michigan, I want to kiss you," he said.

There's more to the world than just words, he always says. Yet, I'm sure I've spoken more words to him than I've spoken to the entirety of the human race. Now, as I stare up at him, in my spaghetti strap, knee length dress of pink chiffon, I think I might be devoid of all words.

It's Winter Formal and I can only think of our first kiss as he leans in for another just outside the building, because it was too stuffy inside. It's dark already.

I can't help but think, that was a beginning kiss, and this is a goodbye kiss. I kiss him back regardless. He has full, warm lips and we linger there for a moment before he says desperately, "Michigan, were you listening?"

Unfortunately, despite my lack of an adequate response, I was.

"You're leaving," I confirm.

"They've lowered the age limit to serve," he repeats.

"You're leaving for two years." I feel detached from my own voice.

"That's how long a Mormon mission lasts," he says, as though defending himself.

"That was a goodbye kiss," I clarify.