Lips

I’ve never had a first kiss that meant as much as your lips on mine, the taste of the tips of our tongues intertwine, every time I’m missing your taste, and you kiss me like the way you kissed me that day, with the passion you beg me to stifle, and ask me not to stay. When you kiss me again like you did then, it’s like constant silence to all the fore mentioned words filling me with doubt.

No matter what you beg of me, or what I wish for myself, I can’t change, not because I can’t, but because I won’t. Never to pretend that I feel less because that’s cutting myself short. I am more. More than the will power we pretend to have, and we are more than the doubt that repeatedly stabs, happiness in its truest form. The moments you don’t realize you’re happy you just are. It’s easy to ignore feelings you haven’t met yet, but difficult to implore a life without them once they’ve graced your presence. We’re doomed to feel unfulfilled because no matter what both of us will always want more. And, you are more. And, I am more. I’ll continue to explore, but I’m not sure that there’s any place else where passion like this exists.

If you’re still wondering why I’m here, I hope you’ve caught on by now, it’s not you my dear. This is who I am. Sometimes the ones who deserve love the least are really just the ones most in need, and who am I to deny myself the right to fall in love with hopeless men. I guess this is what it feels like to be a hopeless romantic to no end. At least at the end of the day; I can proudly say I was always a good friend.

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