Our kisses were this ever evolving mystery we were constantly trying to solve.
Earlier today, our kisses were perfunctory. A ritual we had to partake in to keep the appearances of an us up. The activity we engaged in to see if we could stoke the embers and bring a dying flame back to life. We nursed our hopes, individually, of what we would do if our little rose bush would spring back to life and bloom again.
Yesterday, they were slow and deliberate as we reveled in the sensations we were feeling. We explored lengths and depths, textures and varying degrees of pressure. Together. We brought our separate experiences to the table and created a unique feast no one but the both of us could dine upon.
Before that, they were furtive and passionate as we rushed unto this adrenaline inducing roller-coaster ride that drove us at insane speeds through waterfalls and over volcanoes, plied through boulders of ice and leapt over chasms, before depositing us, one heap of breathlessness, at the highest peak it would take ages to climb down from.
At the beginning, they were barely existent. Who cared for appetizers when they could go straight to the main course and still get dessert? Who dwells on first base when they can get to third base easy? Who uses training wheels when they can do a wheelie? Who rides the bus when… Well, you get the idea.
Before you and I were an us, many nights I would stare at your photos on Instagram and imagine what tasting those lips would be like. Were you a good kisser? Did you know how to use your tongue? Did you know what fun could be had when you playfully introduced your teeth? Would you like it if I tugged on your lower lip? Would you do that annoyingly adorable thing were you blew into my mouth when I least expected it? So many questions I could never have guessed the answers to just staring at your photos or reading your tweets.
Now we don’t ever kiss.
And we may never kiss again.