mathbio235
03-12-2014, 12:43 AM
Hey all, just something I spilled out after watching a little video, detailing strangers sharing first kisses. Any feedback would be warmly welcomed.
Thanks,
Jon W.
PS I'm new here!
~~~~~
I walked past a kissing booth today. Not being much for public displays of affection, as you well know by now, I initially passed it by. A block later, I looked back. And turned back.
It wasn't a normal kissing booth. No, they instead were filming the kisses; first kisses between strangers. It's a sort of weird voyeurism, I thought.
But I myself began to watch. The meeting with the undertaker was pushed far from my mind.
There were many there, at that kissing booth. Many of the folks were young, in their twenties. That stage where innocence is still there, but barely.
While there were so many, for me there was only one couple that I remember.
He was tall, but his height was betrayed by his build. His legs resembled small but sturdy trees, and his chest and shoulders were broad, built more like ribs on a boat than on a human. His beard was long, unkempt; his hair more so. He was wild, all together, or so his looks suggested. I later saw his eyes, though. They told a different story. They told the story of a man who had been tested. His eyes showed patience; they showed pain, but they showed a calm power in all of that.
She was not much like him, physically. While they shared similar heights, her height was exaggerated by her body. She wasn't bony thin; she was a very healthy weight, it seemed. Her arms were long and seemingly strong, like a musicians, but the way she carried herself seemed stronger. I did not see the colors of her eyes, but if I had, I believe I would have known her all the better.
I sat and watched as these two stepped up for their turn.
Were they strangers to each other? They were strangers to me, but it seemed as if they had known each other before. Not only before, but forever before. Now, I'm not one to believe in “knowing people from other lives,”or in “love at first sight,” as you well know, my dear, but there was something there, if I am sure of anything. It was peculiar, really.
They took their spots, he on the left and she on the right. On equal ground, their difference in height was almost negligible. They were each other's equals, in height and in attitude. They stood there, eight, maybe ten inches away from each other, but it seemed that they were already melted together. They were one in that moment.
The boy muttered something under his breath. I could not pick it out from my distance, but she did. Perhaps it was the nerves of the moment, or perhaps it was genuinely funny, but a smile broke her face, and a blush colored her cheeks with the slightest touch of pink. I would guess it to be the former. Remember when we shared our first kiss, my dear? You were that girl, nervous and blushing. In love.
The camerawoman gave them the go-ahead. Like a priest at a wedding, she gave the order for the kiss. The couple before this one had backed out, too afraid to share such an intimacy with someone so, well, not intimately related. With this couple, though, there was no question whether or not they would kiss. They seemed like they had already shared a million kisses in the time waiting for their first together.
No, the question was how long they should kiss for.
After some additional prodding by the camerawoman, the boy and the girl closed their eyes, and leaned into each other.
My love, do you remember when our affection was so young and strong? In that moment, we were them, and they were us.
I'll admit, that at this point, I was a captive voyeur. I leaned into the scene, perched on the park bench across the walk. Their lips met, and one would think that they had both been bit! They jumped ever so slightly, and broke apart.
Their gazes met, and I was terrified. She was a firestorm. She was a hurricane fed not by water but by flame. And he, he my dear, he was the opposite. He was the brook that we first loved each other at. That brook, crawling along the mossy stone and detritus. That brook was calming, but it had a power about it, and in this moment, he was that little stream.
The air between them was a beautiful and terrible steam, the result of fire and water. And they knew it.
Her flame was no match for his water. And his water was no match for her flame. But for that moment, they were one element, the steam between them.
She broke eye contact first, put her hand over her lips, and skirted off the stage. How terrifying must it have been to have been so close to someone you really don't know?
He stood their, stupidly. Then he looked at me, and I wanted to run away immediately. Who was I to have just sat and watched this moment between them? Who was I was vicariously consume this experience? I expected his gaze to be piercing, a reflection of her fire.
But it wasn't. It was peaceful, and wise, and knowing. He quickly broke contact with me, and rushed after the woman. He proposed to her on the street there, to which she obliged. They saw each other's souls naked. And in their nudity, they found themselves in each other. Remember when that was us, my love? Certainly, you must.
I sat there, dumbfounded, and after a short moment, I wept.
With my eyes and face puffy and red, I made my way back to our home. The undertaker could wait.
But, Home was cold, and so instead I came her to write this letter here, on the small, four-by-eight-by-six patch of land that is now yours.
I miss you sorely, Victoria. I don't think that the couple had an effect on me because of them. They were beautiful and all, but I was moved because in that moment they were us. The girl had your fire, that terrifying but delighting fire. Will our daughter have that zest? Or will she be like me, like that creek? Calm, placid, peaceful?
I wish you could read this, my dear. I wish things were different. I wish you were here. I wish we were that couple, once again, and forevermore. Instead, we, the united person, will only live on in my memory, until I, like that crawling creek, have dried up to be with you once again. Blissfully, forever.
With love and tears,
Thomas
~~~
Thanks,
Jon W.
PS I'm new here!
~~~~~
I walked past a kissing booth today. Not being much for public displays of affection, as you well know by now, I initially passed it by. A block later, I looked back. And turned back.
It wasn't a normal kissing booth. No, they instead were filming the kisses; first kisses between strangers. It's a sort of weird voyeurism, I thought.
But I myself began to watch. The meeting with the undertaker was pushed far from my mind.
There were many there, at that kissing booth. Many of the folks were young, in their twenties. That stage where innocence is still there, but barely.
While there were so many, for me there was only one couple that I remember.
He was tall, but his height was betrayed by his build. His legs resembled small but sturdy trees, and his chest and shoulders were broad, built more like ribs on a boat than on a human. His beard was long, unkempt; his hair more so. He was wild, all together, or so his looks suggested. I later saw his eyes, though. They told a different story. They told the story of a man who had been tested. His eyes showed patience; they showed pain, but they showed a calm power in all of that.
She was not much like him, physically. While they shared similar heights, her height was exaggerated by her body. She wasn't bony thin; she was a very healthy weight, it seemed. Her arms were long and seemingly strong, like a musicians, but the way she carried herself seemed stronger. I did not see the colors of her eyes, but if I had, I believe I would have known her all the better.
I sat and watched as these two stepped up for their turn.
Were they strangers to each other? They were strangers to me, but it seemed as if they had known each other before. Not only before, but forever before. Now, I'm not one to believe in “knowing people from other lives,”or in “love at first sight,” as you well know, my dear, but there was something there, if I am sure of anything. It was peculiar, really.
They took their spots, he on the left and she on the right. On equal ground, their difference in height was almost negligible. They were each other's equals, in height and in attitude. They stood there, eight, maybe ten inches away from each other, but it seemed that they were already melted together. They were one in that moment.
The boy muttered something under his breath. I could not pick it out from my distance, but she did. Perhaps it was the nerves of the moment, or perhaps it was genuinely funny, but a smile broke her face, and a blush colored her cheeks with the slightest touch of pink. I would guess it to be the former. Remember when we shared our first kiss, my dear? You were that girl, nervous and blushing. In love.
The camerawoman gave them the go-ahead. Like a priest at a wedding, she gave the order for the kiss. The couple before this one had backed out, too afraid to share such an intimacy with someone so, well, not intimately related. With this couple, though, there was no question whether or not they would kiss. They seemed like they had already shared a million kisses in the time waiting for their first together.
No, the question was how long they should kiss for.
After some additional prodding by the camerawoman, the boy and the girl closed their eyes, and leaned into each other.
My love, do you remember when our affection was so young and strong? In that moment, we were them, and they were us.
I'll admit, that at this point, I was a captive voyeur. I leaned into the scene, perched on the park bench across the walk. Their lips met, and one would think that they had both been bit! They jumped ever so slightly, and broke apart.
Their gazes met, and I was terrified. She was a firestorm. She was a hurricane fed not by water but by flame. And he, he my dear, he was the opposite. He was the brook that we first loved each other at. That brook, crawling along the mossy stone and detritus. That brook was calming, but it had a power about it, and in this moment, he was that little stream.
The air between them was a beautiful and terrible steam, the result of fire and water. And they knew it.
Her flame was no match for his water. And his water was no match for her flame. But for that moment, they were one element, the steam between them.
She broke eye contact first, put her hand over her lips, and skirted off the stage. How terrifying must it have been to have been so close to someone you really don't know?
He stood their, stupidly. Then he looked at me, and I wanted to run away immediately. Who was I to have just sat and watched this moment between them? Who was I was vicariously consume this experience? I expected his gaze to be piercing, a reflection of her fire.
But it wasn't. It was peaceful, and wise, and knowing. He quickly broke contact with me, and rushed after the woman. He proposed to her on the street there, to which she obliged. They saw each other's souls naked. And in their nudity, they found themselves in each other. Remember when that was us, my love? Certainly, you must.
I sat there, dumbfounded, and after a short moment, I wept.
With my eyes and face puffy and red, I made my way back to our home. The undertaker could wait.
But, Home was cold, and so instead I came her to write this letter here, on the small, four-by-eight-by-six patch of land that is now yours.
I miss you sorely, Victoria. I don't think that the couple had an effect on me because of them. They were beautiful and all, but I was moved because in that moment they were us. The girl had your fire, that terrifying but delighting fire. Will our daughter have that zest? Or will she be like me, like that creek? Calm, placid, peaceful?
I wish you could read this, my dear. I wish things were different. I wish you were here. I wish we were that couple, once again, and forevermore. Instead, we, the united person, will only live on in my memory, until I, like that crawling creek, have dried up to be with you once again. Blissfully, forever.
With love and tears,
Thomas
~~~