There will be kisses, and they will not always be good, they will not always be memorable. Your first, 6 years old, will taste like chocolate and soda pop. He will have a smudge of dirt on his nose, you’ll get it all over your cheek and your mother will wipe it off when you get home. You will not remember his name or maybe you will but either way it’s okay because you’ll remember how you played in the mud afterwards. He was your boyfriend for a day. It was fine. You were more preoccupied with being the fastest runner and having the most scabs.
Your second will look like a sticky summer afternoon, you are 12 years old and your entire body is a goosebump. He does not know how to hold your face properly, you bump teeth and he mumbles “sorry” into your mouth. You blush so hard that your cheeks feel like sunburn. He tries to kiss you again, you both lean forward at the same time so that you have matching bruises on your foreheads for a week. He whispers “sorry sorry” every time he looks at you. Your hands shake as your write his name in your diary. After the 27th time, they begin to look less like letters and more like heartbeats.
The third, fourth, fifth. You are 16 years old and they are drunken car crashes in the dark. Each ghosted breath against your mouth smells like beer and teenage desperation. They will put their hands on you and you will try to wiggle your way into their skin. You wish one of them would ask you on a date. None of them ever do. In the morning they only know that you were beautiful and your mouth tasted like regret.
When you are 18 you will be kissed and you will not want it. There will be bruises on your jaw, and your upper arms. You will not be able to look at a boy for months without shrinking inwards. He will not say sorry. He will not look at you after. Instead he’ll take his guilt home and feed it to himself. When his mother asks what is wrong, he won’t be able to meet her eyes.
You watch movies and read books and you don’t think you’ve ever been kissed like that but you remember the blue eyed boy with the scarred knuckles after your freshman year. You remember the way he cradled your jaw, cupped your head, and bent you backwards. He lost his balance and dropped you but it was okay anyways because somehow your entire body was on fire. Even the air was incinerating. You clung desperately and ate at each other as if you were starving. It was tongue and teeth and lust. It was what your mouth was made for. You imagine that’s close enough.
But keep looking, keep kissing. You will find this again. The kind of kiss that touches you only on the lips and turns all of you into flames.
the boy you loved took your heart and wrung it dry, promised it was his way of saying forever and your wrists became a tally chart for how often you wanted to throw yourself in front of the nearest moving car
I don’t think people realize how generally infuriating these kind of messages are
like okay?? Thank you?? Wtf am I supposed to say to this bullshit??
How about this; unless you’re gonna grow some balls and actually say soMETHING TO ME IN PERson please leave me alone you’re annoying and I don’t have time for almost bye