Kiss Them Like It’s The First Time

Kiss them like it’s the first time, when you’re nervous and unsure that they might pull away. Kiss them timidly, kiss them scared, kiss them thinking that this first time might be the last time your lips ever meet. Debate asking them if you can kiss them. Debate pulling them in, debate catching them off-guard so you can play it off like a mistake if they do take a step back.

Think about kissing them long before you do; think about it all night, let them mimic your thoughts with the way their lips move as they say every single word. Wish that you were those words. Wish that you were that sound, wish that you were their voice. Get lost in the sound of their accent, of their enunciation, of the cadence and the flow, no matter if you’ve heard it every day of the past forever. Get lost in the nuances; lose yourself to the feeling that everything is new and exciting and filled with what if.

Kiss them like it’s the hundredth time, like you know how they want to be kissed and they know how to kiss you. Kiss them knowing which way your noses are going to go, knowing how to keep your teeth from crashing, knowing how much tongue is too much tongue and how sometimes you don’t even need tongue at all to let them know you care.

Kiss them in the morning, closed-mouth, saving them from morning breath, but still, a kiss is a nice way to wake up if you can wake up to one. Kiss them like you’re 14 and you’re nervous and the idea of anything other than just a peck is foreign and ambitious and bold. Kiss them like that’s all you need; sometimes it’s the little gestures that matter. Kiss them randomly, when you’re both watching TV and it’s Thursday night — Thursday night kisses are not the passionate kind — and you just want to give them a kiss because you can and maybe it would be nice. Kiss them once, but hold them forever, as if the hug is the endgame, that being that close is all you need, all you want, and all you could ask for. They don’t owe you any more than that, after all. The fact that they want to hug you, too, is more than enough.

Kiss them like it’s the twentieth time you’ve kissed them, or maybe the tenth, like they’re becoming more familiar and you’re becoming more comfortable and you’re second-guessing yourself less, and you begin to realize that they’re not going anywhere, they’re not pulling away, they’re not running away. Kiss them because it’s still exhilarating to kiss them, like you hope this is still early in the course of kissing them, that you’ve kissed them a few times already, but there’s still so many more moments just like this one you can share.

Kiss them like it’s the second time you’ve ever kissed them, like you know now that they want you to kiss them and so you do, eagerly, happily — but still a little hopeful that they’re not going to pull away. That they’re not going to rescind, that it’s not a mistake. Kiss them with a little familiarity, but a little fear still. Not that you’re scared of them, but that liking them could lead to falling for them could lead to loving them could lead to heartbreak. But don’t think about that now. Think about kissing them instead. And do it.