Kissing Her

The first time we kissed, it was as if I was in the little world that dwelt around her lips. A world meant for us, that smelt of her delicate skin around her fruity lips; the air, pregnant with the warmth and smell of our breaths lingering like a moment that I knew would forever be in written in my memory.


But I still couldn’t express to myself, how it felt to be embraced by the warmth of her lips. I mean, why was it that she shivered a bit when I had just pecked her lips for the first time? Why was it that I felt as if she meant the world to me, when I felt her shiver within my embrace? What answers hid behind that shy little smile on her face?

Was she an angel? Perhaps not, because she had too much warmth to be one of them. Angels are cold creatures, you see. No matter how beautiful they look, they make you think of death. But she? She was a human, just like me. Flawed and spoilt. And what else feels as good as being loved by someone to the extent where you could still speak to each other in the silence that followed your separation?


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