Kissing you is like standing on that line where the waves barely reach. It’s like getting pulled in by the ocean and every time I turn around I’m farther out than I thought I was. Before I know it the waves are crashing all over me and I’m engulfed by everything. The sky is to my left and the ground is nowhere and I’m drowning in the greatness of it all.
This is what kissing you feels like.
It’s extraordinary and terrifying. It’s liberating and confining because I want more of you each time. It’s terrifying because this feeling begins to arise in my chest and I’m never sure what it means. It’s like being underwater in the ocean, unsure if I’m going to be able to come up for air, or if I want to because being part of another world is much more beautiful and satisfying.
Sometimes I keep my eyes closed when we kiss and I lose you because you’re constantly rippling. I lose you as you move.
Other times I open my eyes a bit and I catch a glimpse of you smiling as we break apart and I can hold my breath for a little longer as I lean back in. In those moments I don’t mind getting lost because there’s a satisfaction in being found once again. And I always want you to be the one to find me.
Kissing you is like staring out at sea. When my feet aren’t in the water, when my lips aren’t inches away from yours, a longing fills my chest. It fills my lungs, surrounds my heart, weighs itself down around my ribs, and I’m aching for you. I’m aching for those lips that I think of as my own. I’m aching for the waves, the kisses that are part of the same person, but never quite the same. I want nothing more than to fling myself at you. I want to be surrounded by your arms and I want to whisper everything to you. I want to send my letters out to sea.
This is what kissing you feels like.
It’s knowing that I can be pulled in deep enough if I let my guard down and wanting to. It’s wanting to dive off the reef, knowing there is nothing between me and your vastness, and swimming in that unexplored open water.
Kissing you is like this.
I miss you. I miss you I miss you I miss you. I carry these words with me every day. I carry them as I wake up in the morning and look in the mirror. I carry them as I almost miss my bus stop. I carry them as I walk home alone, a cup of coffee in my hands. I carry them with me as I fall asleep, dreaming of your kisses.
My gosh, how I miss you so. I miss you in your entirety and I miss you in pieces. I miss your kisses, the hungry ones you plant on my lips, full of passion and want. I miss the gentle ones you plant on top of my head as we hug outside on my doorstep. And I miss all the ones in between. I miss your smile. It’s an infectious thing. I miss the way you sing. I miss your hair. I miss it all.
I compare my daily life with all these moments we share and it all seems so dull. And it makes me miss you. I’ll be standing in line for something, life dreary as always, and I imagine you and what you’d do if you were there and how I’d feel. And I know I’d feel different. And I do. The thought of you makes me feel different and I have small realizations in those moments. The thought I constantly carry makes itself present, leaving me disappointed in reality.
I miss the way you make everything exceed my expectations. Getting coffee isn’t painful. A trip to the store isn’t a hassle. Getting lost is an adventure. Driving into a parking pole is a funny memory. Tedious details become something I smile at. It makes me cherish the simplicity of every day activity. I wish I had more of the tedious details to remember.
I miss you in the new hours of the day. You’re asleep and I’m up thinking about you and if you were an ugly duckling and what your favourite flavour of ice cream is and if you have scars with memories. I miss you.
This constant ache for you never fully goes away. It’s become a detail in my life and these words keep echoing inside me. I miss you so damn fucking much.
I remember the way we’d both stare out to sea, waiting for the change. The sky, in its hues, had beauty that was irreplaceable. No sunset is the same, no beach identical and in this way we’ve shared many sunsets. We’ve watched the effortless transition from gold to pink to purple to a calming blue. And as I’ve watched the sky, the ocean waves lapping between green and blue, the warmth of your hand always found me, keeping me afloat in such a remarkable moment.
And out of respect to nature we’d wait for the colourful orchestra to finish before kissing gently. Those were my favourite moments with you, the quiet ones, the ones that lacked human thought or interference. What’s more natural than a human kiss? What’s a better transition from the cold and loneliness? Because we were alone during those sunsets. We watched the same event behind different eyes, our thoughts and hopes a mystery to one other.
But we were together. Despite our fears and loneliness we stayed true to those moments. We stayed until the end, hand in hand. Doesn’t that mean something? Not many people wait until all the splendor is gone. That’s when your patience would show. I enjoyed your expressions then, the contemplation that all things could end that way.
You’re like a sunset to me now. I watch you, the way you transition around me and I ache for you sometimes. I ache for your comfort and simplicity. And despite knowing I’ll lose you then, I ache for your sunset. I ache to know if you and I will end in splendor or not. I hope we do. I hope when we watch our final sunset it’s just as beautiful as the first. Sadly, no sunset is the same.
I keep wishing this will go away. I’m not even entirely sure what I mean by “this.” Maybe I mean our arguing. Maybe I mean my feelings for you. Maybe I mean you. Maybe I mean us. Maybe I mean the complications we could do without.
It breaks my heart, metaphorically. Perhaps it doesn’t break, but it hurts like hell. It stings and aches and yet here I am. And there you are, arguing the same case, ruining things with your words, lacking the eloquence I’ve come to miss. You ask me for a confession. You ask me to be honest. You ask me for something I don’t have. You ask me for something I already gave.
I ignore your questions now. They’ve become a familiar pain I have no intention of giving thought to because if I do then the tears and pain will come. That’s not something I want to deal with anymore. But what about my questions? What about the things I wonder and worry about? Are you really unhappy with me? Do you hate me? Do you care about me? Do you miss me when you’re lying in bed at night, begging to see me? Does it hurt? Do you mean any of it? What about my questions, the ones unspoken, terrorizing my heart late at night when you’re out with your friends, lips pressed against someone else’s neck?
It tortures me. You torture me, ruthlessly and freely, with the questions you ask and the answers I receive. These complications torture me, the ones you create and fear in your mind, the ones that are untrue.
And I continue to feed them with my stupidity. And you continue to create them with your recklessness. But I’ve grown tired of feeding the monsters in your head, the ones asking these complications. I wish you would too.
But as long as you ask your questions you’ll never know any of this. And these monsters, they won’t go away. They’ll gnaw at our emotions and expand on our fears.
And these are all things we could do without.
Lately you’re the only one I miss. I always think about you at night. I get through the day just fine. I keep myself busy and I pretend you never happened. But you did and that all comes rushing back at night. I turn on my phone, scroll to your name, and wait. I wait for you to text me. I wait for myself to give in and text you.
Sometimes I do.
I rearrange my blankets, tossing and turning, hoping you’ll reply. You always do. Your kindness always surprises me. For some reason I always expect you to be cruel and uncaring. I expect you to tell me to leave you alone, to move on but you never do. Maybe it’s because you can’t do the same to me. Maybe it’s because I return the favour when you drunk dial me at one in the morning, begging me to wake up, whispering that you miss me.
I miss you too.
We always begin this way: hopeful and nervous. And we never fail each other. We always end the same way too: hurt and confused. You’ll plead with me to confess and I’ll plead my innocence. We play the trial out with no jury to witness our tears and persistence. In the end you find me guilty despite lack of proof. And this is my sentence. This distance and loneliness and pleading is what I have to endure now.
But we keep coming back. We pity each other. Your sober words differ so greatly from your drunk ones, but the late night texts are what I hold on to, letting those slurred syllables keep me at bay. Every text, every playlist, every letter reeks of misguided hopefulness yet here I am.
I really hoped this was the start of something new. You think you’re the rebound, but you weren’t. You were the fresh start. A new semester in college, a new year, a new age, a new “us” I could be happy over. I wanted it to be epic. You didn’t.
But what can you expect from someone who only watches sunsets with you? What can you expect from someone who will only share an end with you, never a beginning?
You picked that
her away from
her sisters, the
You put her in
a vase to
bloom as if
beauty was her
And the bees missed her.
And the ground
rumbled in relief
at one less mouth
And she trembled
her days away,
pleasing you with
each unfolding petal.
Now she withers
and is unable to
return from where
naive and unafraid.
“I love you.”
Those were the last words I heard you say before hanging up. I love you. Right. When you love someone you want to be with them, don’t you? No. You don’t. You want to take a break and be happy off on your own. You want to be alone because being together isn’t cutting it anymore.
I wish you had said this first. I wish you had told me this when we first met. A warning would have been great. Hey, I know I seem great and have potential, but I wouldn’t get too invested in me because I’ll tell you that I want to be together and worry about breaking up in the beginning and then completely do a 180 and end up being the person to break things off. That would’ve been really great.
But it’s too late for that. And that’s what I don’t understand. I’ve racked my brain trying to think of how that makes sense. You love me, but you don’t want to be with me. You aren’t sure about us anymore. Something inside you diminished and now you’re lost. You’ve gone off to do some “soul searching.” As if that’s a thing in a nineteen year old guy’s life. Maybe it is. Except you always had it all together, all figured out. I must have been blind to the early signs (because there are almost always those early signs that try to warn you.)
This would all have been okay if not for the one flaw: I love you too. This was my downfall. I love you and I told you so. I opened up to you. I shared late night kisses with you, fears, dreams, buried secrets. You sat there and listened with concentration, remembering the frivolous details most people tend to ignore. You remembered that I had gotten the scars on my knees from running in the halls in third grade. You remembered I write my r’s like v’s. You remembered which cologne I loved on you the most. You remembered it all. And I wish you hadn’t.
Somehow that makes it worse, that now I regret you. I wish you hadn’t been such a great person. I wish you hadn’t been as smart and funny. I wish you were a bad kisser. I wish you never remembered that I love imported chocolate. I wish I had never grown to love you.
But I said it anyway. “I love you too.”
I’ve lost you. You’re off searching for something you want, need and I’m here trying to pull you back to me.
Sometimes I think
of all our wonderful,
and how nothing will ever
compare to the
feeling of your hands
on my legs on a
tamed Friday night.