Sometimes, when I don’t have much else to think of, I think of kissing. Some days I just long to have someone that would press their lips to mine. It’s strange how special a kiss can make one feel. The physical description of it, “two lips touching,” hardly sounds special, but it is.
I get shivers when I think of the way boys have looked at me before a kiss. Soft eyes, taking me in as though I’m the only person in the room, in the world even. And there’s that moment before your lips meet, where you can just feel your heart. When it’s right, the feeling is not nervousness. It’s almost a longing. And a pain. Kisses are bittersweet. They last for a moment, and though you might look at each other in googly-eyed wonder that “they wanted to kiss me!“, the kiss is merely a small moment of your life. And if for some reason you miss the opportunity to kiss that other, you think about it for the next days afterwards. You wallow in regret. Why didn’t I just kiss him? What harm could have been done?
That short time during a good kiss– from when your lips first meet to when they part– that, I think, is the happiest moment one can experience.