A Kiss Is A Kiss Is a Kiss Is A

In the first row of the movie theater, fingers interlocked, all too aware of the presence next to me for the past two hours. He leans in, and my mind seems to race with thoughts and be blank all at once. Warm lips pressed against mine; not uncomfortable, but not familiar. My eyes remain open. My first kiss. 

I’m tucked under his arm, nestled into the corner of the couch. I’m too acutely attentive to our close proximity, even though we have been official for a bit now. I tilt my head up at him. It’s the most familiar I’ve been with someone, but I still feel out of my element. It’s long (long, compared to my history). Part of me thinks I’m doing this all wrong, the other part doesn’t want it to stop. We pull away, cheeks flushed. I believe that I am in love. 

They’re soft on mine, but it’s ice cold. He presses in for more, not noticing that I’m not reciprocating. The weight of his body on mine is a straightjacket, and it’s like I am pinned to a cold, metal table. I will my arms to move, to push him off, to do something. They feel like lead as he squeezes my waist with a steel grip. The voice in my head screams No! but my lips remain shut. I was afraid if I opened them, his tongue would steal my words, swallow them without ever letting me catch my breath. 

Hesitantly at first, with gentle fingertips at my cheek. Tender but intense, and then all at once: all-consuming and soul-crushing. 

I’m in the doorway, and he leans down. A chaste touch against my own. It’s quick, but it holds the weight of a simple see-you-later. It’s a habit, an I love you without saying anything. It’s domestic and intimate, and it makes me want to walk back into his arms, never to leave them again. 

His hands hold my face, and everything seems to fall away. I find my religion in his lips, whispering his name like it’s something holy. I dig my fingers in his hair, like flower roots in the soil, and it feels like the start of forever. 

Cold and salty. Though the sun beats down on our warm bodies, his lips are bleak against mine, and my tears leak into both of our mouths. His hand on the small of my back, the touch I once fell into with ease now felt like a knife, carving his initials for me to remember for all of eternity. Our last one, and as we parted, our goodbye for now turned into goodbye, forever, and whispers of I love you lingered between us. Our relationship, a ticking time bomb. The kiss, the final trigger. 

It’s new, it’s foreign, and it’s completely unfamiliar. It’s not what I am used to, what I had been comfortable with for the past year and a half. I don’t stop, but my thoughts feel detached and my heart is barren. It’s not bad, but it’s not him. My lips are confused, and it can’t stop asking, who? Who? 

The bass of the song courses through me, and the flashing lights swim in my line of sight. I’m sweating, moving carelessly in the sea of other people. Hands pull at my waist, and I turn to face the stranger that I have been dancing with all night. It’s sloppy, but it’s fun. We don’t care that other people can see us, and I can taste alcohol on our lips. I don’t know if it’s from me or him. A tap on my shoulder from my friend, and I break away from his embrace. Time to go home. As we leave, I don’t look back, and I know that I will never see him again. 

Fumbling hands, stumbling through my bedroom door. We’re hungry, and we don’t care who satiates the feeling. It’s raw and emotional but not intimate. There is an unspoken, mutual understanding that floods between us as we devour each other. We seek out one another, searching for the company of just another warm body. I’m not even sure I know his name. 

I have fallen to my knees at a kiss, filled with desperation and longing. It has choked me with its ability to feel everything and nothing at once. It is not always gentle. Sometimes it is dirty and gritty, obsessive and senseless. Sometimes it feels like teeth biting into the skin of an apple. The touch of lips at birth and on the brink of death. It is poetry. It ignites, and it burns, and you must be careful not to be engulfed by its flames. How it can hold so many hello’s and farewells, and how it can feel like a warm hug or punch like a fist. Sometimes I believe a kiss is the most dangerous thing of all.