– from ‘Afterwards, kissing’
So strange when I read some of my old posts. Many are born from grand passion, pinpoint-glimpses of bright intensity, and I see those moments through a veil of detachment now. Like they were experienced by a different person. And I also see them anew, and I think ‘Yes, that!’ as if those memories weren’t something I ever had myself, as if they were someone else’s, something to covet from afar.
I miss kissing SO much. Of all things, it’s what I miss most. The heartbreaking intimacy of it, the aggression and violence, the tenderness, the sighing endless pleasure of that exploration.
I’m not melancholy, though I think these thoughts have that flavour.
I’m just thinking out loud.