Her lips.
I remember the first time I was touched by her lips. Plump and painted in an earthy red tone. Contrasting, yet still blending into her skin color.
The first time I kissed her I knew I was in trouble.
Some lips are born to be pressed against by your own. Some lips emit a soft poison which transfers from lips to lips. It’s a drug that leaves you shaking in cold sweats waiting for that next press. But that initial rush can never be experienced again.
You yearn for it and that memory hurts.
You can see them and you can recall that sensation, pushing your lips against hers, the welcoming touch of her tongue…
Her arms entangle you and her eyes looking into your eyes. Her nose, her cheeks…
It’s an addiction and there ain’t no cure, only treatments and therapeutic sessions.
Those lips…

In a world filled with dirty streets and dirty people, placards carried advertising hatred and condemnation, love is a commodity which is harder and harder to find.

It’s truly a gift to find that heartstring which is tied to your own, never let it go, never let it wear away.

I close my eyes and I kiss her and I am transported back in time. By the water, close to the bridge and right by the bizarre.

Love is much stronger than lust, lust is always empowered by love.

What is the point of posting this? I am not sure other than to express my gratitude. Love is something which should never be taken for granted.

That’s what the gist of this is, I guess. Love is the stuff that life is made of.