Image Source: Wordporn
I will be the first to admit that I have had my share of first kisses, last kisses, and kisses that never progressed. However; I can count exactly the number of times where a kiss revealed more than the words which had yet to be revealed. Sadly, happy and loving “words” were not always the case.
I was twelve years old and in the sixth grade. He showered me with words that translated into beauty. I had never been told I was beautiful; I had never been looked at in the way he looked at me. I was accepted as I was. For a girl at such an impressionable age…that was what I wanted and desperately needed.
Let me set the scene…
The after school bell rang and he had promised to walk me to the home where my younger siblings were being watched. We walked hand in hand and a few houses from my destination he turned to face me and pulled me into him. What an awkward experience. I had never been kissed in this way before. I felt the weirdness of his tongue enter my mouth. The way it moved around as if it were having a seizure. I felt the wetness accumulate on the edges of my lips and the warmth of it. I felt the need to join in. I placed my short, slimy, pink tongue into his and moved it around not sure if it was proper or not.
In those few minutes, that first kiss gave me everything I needed to know. I learned that I was a pasatiempo…a stand in until the next thing came around. I learned that words had double meaning like a double edged sword. In this one kiss, I learned that the movement of a man’s tongue could cut you in ways you never thought possible.
I hold onto hope that Pablo Neruda’s words of love and security are still out there belonging to the man who will come into my world and with his one kiss will show me why all the ones before him failed.