Bare waists and midriffs.

I don’t know why every time his fingers trail my bare waist, I feel much more than just the shiver of intimacy run up my spine.

I try to wander the corridors of my mind to find out why he feels much more than just someone I make out with.

I cannot help but notice that it’s much more than just his hair that I grab onto now. I often envelop his hands so tightly with mine.

I wake up late into the nights and crave for his lips to be pressed against my neck, and I fall asleep with my hands wrapped around the pillow as if it were him.

I repeatedly catch myself thinking about him as I tie my hair back into the ponytail that he obsesses over.

Whenever he picks me up, and looks me in the eye, I don’t look at his lips while biting mine anymore. Instead, I kiss his nose and his chest, and feel his heart beating against my lips. I think of his smile as his kisses just grazes my midriff.

Why do I get all excited and tensed as he softly tucks my hair behind my ear?

I don’t know.


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Kisses and cravings.

“I’ll make up for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you.” – Leo Christopher

The first time I kissed her, I lit up like a Christmas tree. Heat rushed to my cheeks, my cold hands warmed up, and I had goosebumps anyway.

Right before we kissed, I spent quite some time looking at her eyes. I noticed how her eyelashes curved like the corner of her lips, how her eyes were restless like the wind before a storm, how her skin made small crinkles around her eyes, and how her lips were chapped. I looked into her dancing eyes, and could hear my heart pumping the music. I grabbed her by her waist and pulled her closer like the flowers moving towards the sun. I pulled her in so that our waists were touching, and our face were only inches apart. I looked at her biting her lips, I felt her fingers cold against my neck, I placed my hand on her cheeks and leaned in.

I leaned in and kissed her and felt like this was the last time I would. The rush of blood in my veins made me hold her closer and tighter to make sure she really stays. She tasted like a sunny afternoon, chilly beaches, and tanned skin. She tasted like the wine we would open on date nights. She tasted like late night cravings, and throat burning scotch. She tasted like wild sex, funny jokes and strip poker. She tasted of shooting stars and petty wishes. She tasted like a forever.

So I kissed her passionately and tried to say the things I’d failed to say before. It seemed to be easier when no words were involved. I let my cold fingers tell her that I’d give her wintry nights, cozy blankets and hot fries. I let the loud thumping of my heart against hers tell her that I’d be just as thrilled when I kiss her after a date thirty years down the line. I let my eyelashes against her eyes tell her that above all, my only wish is to have her forever. I tell her that I’d always stay with her and watch Netflix and drink hot chocolate, rather than going out to meet people we don’t like.

I felt it. Her chest against mine, I felt her heart beating with my heart and for the first time, I realized we were both alive, as she pulled on my hair.

“The way you feel when you kiss her (him) for the first time. Like fire within your bones, like your soul has returned to the water, like every part of you that came from a dead star is alive again.” – Nikita Gill.


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Related post : Broken.

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