It’s Valentine’s Day 2013.
I’ve been single and celibate for about 18 months now; my mother thinks that that’s a long time for me to be single bearing testimony to how co-dependent I was through my twenties.
Right now, being single seems appropriate, but today of all days, I have to admit to myself that there is something I miss—kissing.
Well not just kissing, because I get a lot of that in life, but heart palpitating, show stopping, push me against the wall and leave stubble burns on my face kissing.
My first kiss was rather uneventful; actually, I remember it happening, but don’t remember the details.
I was a kid, if you can call 17 a kid, that is (so sue me—I was more interested in books than boys and considering how teenage boys don’t seem to value the importance of a shower, you can’t really blame me). And yes, he was a teenager too (a bit younger than me actually); we had no clue and it was nice and cute and he became my boyfriend for a month.
Actually, although the kissing was alright, I was not ready to deal with the other things that came with it.
Thank heavens, through the years, the kisses only got better.
And I got better at not running for the hills (refer to top, I flipped over and became co-dependent)…but I digress.
Sometimes, it’s a stranger you meet and before exchanging names, you’ve somehow started this amazing conversation, not really knowing who kissed whom and really not caring because you don’t want it to stop. Then, the evening ends and you have the choice to either go on or say goodbye, no regrets either way (well actually, if you’re drunk, probably more regrets if you go on).
Then there is that thrill of the first kiss goodnight after an early date where you are just testing the waters, a whispered promise of things to come. It’s almost a bit shy—you both might want more, but you don’t want to rush it.
And then there is that kiss where somehow, without a word, you just reach this mutual agreement and before you know it, fingers are in hair, bodies are pressed against each other and you are just ready to let go and risk drowning—that moment when every sensation starts where your lips are meeting. Where time no longer exists and you can explore each others’ lips for hours.
Like wine though, some kisses get better with time and the familiarity breeds a certain confidence.
Those moments when you’re walking down an alley and he just presses you against a wall and gives you the deepest kiss, and suddenly, you’re burning up, wanting more—a tease, a promise, a debt to be collected in private.
There are the gentle kisses when you wake up in the morning, a greeting, soft as a morning breeze.
Then there are the ones where you exchange a kiss just because you want to.
A kiss can say so many things:
I love you.
I want you.
I am yours.
Oh how I miss it, especially the ones where there is surrender and nothing else; not a surrender to him, or him to you, but a surrender to the kiss.
You know without a doubt, that you are safe. And you forget about the laundry or movie that’s playing or the yoga practice that you’re missing and you are just present, making the moment last into many moments; allowing the kiss to take you wherever it wants to.
Man, did I tell you how much I miss kissing?
Azra Mustafa. Daughter. Cousin. Niece. Sister. Muslim. Malay. Yoga student, yoga teacher. Part pirate from the Straits of Malacca and the South China Sea, part runaway from the Black Sea and completely human. Former traditional dancer. Urban hippie. Sometimes blogger. Serial hugger. Wonderer. Wanderer. Gypsie. Shoe freak. Beach bum. Dreamer. Music appreciator. Movie liker. Social networker. Kitchen experimenter. Constant friend. Often lover. Still looking for her Dharma. Check out her blog.
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Ed: Bryonie Wise
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