The feeling of a pending kiss

This morning when we laid in bed and he traced his fingers along my face, along the parts of my face he previously told me he found beautiful.

We laid face to face, on our sides, as I traced my fingers along every part of his body that I could reach.

My eyes were closed when he began to do the same to my body and our lips were hovering above each other’s.

Our faces were close enough to kiss.. instead we savored the feeling of each others touch and of the connection that was flowing between us.

The feeling of a pending kiss.

I can’t say that these moments mean anything, but what it is that they mean I can’t say either.

But I want to remember these moments and the names of the boys I’ve shared them with.

I also want to remember their laughs, their voices and the way they smelled.

And since those memories fade and most of these men.. I never see again, I’ll write about them. Not all of them, but I’ll write of the moments that would otherwise be forgotten.

And I hope that they remember me with the same adoration.

But it’s not enough, the aftermath of a temporary bond.

This feeling that eats you alive because the time for that connection is over and all you want is more of it.

You’re unable to control what happens next because it has to be what it will be.

It feels like pulling two magnets away from each other very slowly. Eventually there will be too much distance between either point of the connection to really feel it anymore.

You know it existed though, and that’s what your left with.

All of these emotions are encased in my soul. The ups and downs of creating this reality with another person. It’s difficult to maneuver through the days that follow the bond.

I find myself smiling while reminiscing,

And I find myself experiencing a strain in my chest when I’m wishing for a text.

This part passes, it always does, and I never regret wearing my heart on my sleeve.

I go through these emotional stints and I wonder if anybody could really comprehend the depth of what I feel and the complexity of how the emotions branch off into other emotions.

Somebody recently told me that the emotions we experience aren’t ours, they belong to the universe.

But how could something that makes me who I am not belong to me?

Maybe there is a way to feel the emotions and make my form of art from them.. and then allow them to pass.

These moments we create with people are my muse, my inspiration to feel and create. My inspiration to indulge in love, lust, pleasure, pain and grief.

My inspiration to live.

I am this person. Someone who lives for consistently experiencing the highs and lows of life.

I am someone who breathes life in from feeling emotion.

Someone who sometimes contains my reaction to life but mostly spews it out into the world like a child crying on an airplane.

And that’s okay.

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