The kiss which they had envisioned, was something which tasted electric and permeated the surface of their contoured beings, going deeper and deeper, until their beings were spilled with celestial light.
Just a tiny drop in eternity, but to be preserved in memory and deeply felt, as opposed to a fleeting serenity.
She realised he tasted of the sweet currents which were melted and denied, which blossomed until life split along the middle and their beings ached with longing.
She was his muse, and he her artist-chef. He was a loving aching mess and he tasted of pancakes smeared in waffle sauce made from blood red winsomeness. Their demure beings mediated through the timid trajectory of tidal passion, and weaved around tender flowers and tendrils until it became a swelling, aching mess.
This was no dating accident, no ordinary millennial romance chartered along ghosting, bread crumbing, and escapist tendencies.
This was a love whose fever was inviolate, beautiful, and surreal in poignancy. It was blood-red hot and was a tempestuous flow of current which could burn the atmosphere into shreds of malleability. Imagine being a part of this madness, and yet holding on. How counter-productive. How 90's and old school. How romantically conflicted. Just enough to be interesting, but not enough to be saturated with nothingness.
A love, a romance, which can rip his heart but cannot escape the intertwined necessity of another heart beating alongside his. He turned over and silenced that heart with his lust. But it persisted, until his own longing became a tepid force and he realised purity was overrated.
She would spend long afternoons to escape from his ritualised lust. She would visit the library, spend hours poring over old, musty books and spend evenings with friends at hipster bars, drowning her sorrows in cheap alcohol. But to no avail. She was in love with him and any crumbs he sent her way were lapped up without asking for more. She knew he could not give more. He was not hers.But she continued to hover alongside him, until her eyes were tinged with an uncommon brokenness.
He didn't break her heart. He couldn't. He liked her in so many ways, but he could not quench her thirst for love. And this irritated her no end. He was no longer her Prince Charming, but he became the garden of necessity where she planted flowers which were only partly watered by him. He was not a novice in love, he was only a novice in burying his desires along her pearly skin, drenched in fiery desire for him and for his heart, which he could not satisfy. But this situation continued through the seasons, and their need of each other became symbiotic and aligned through a misty haze.
Her rabbit went missing, her cat drowned in the lake, and her dog disappeared to be claimed by some other home. But she persisted. Her senses were sharpened by her blue and lissome love, which was nettled in syrupy sweet pancake juice and fetishes in armour-like invincibility.
The tiles in the shower, the blue ones, were witness to the overreaching heights their passion was capable of reaching. They could dismantle the boundaries and borders of desire. She was only 26 and was young, juicy and naive in a splendidly sensuous way. She could grasp his fingers through her mouth and let them pound along her veins until they became dissociated and detached from her being, and it seemed she was floating above the room with its assorted colour combination.
He was tall, sincere, and had the looks of a movie star which was of no appeal to her. Her being was concentrated only in electrical intensity, which was her raison-d-etre in loving him. She was not fond of his taste in books, cinema or music and did not discuss politics with him either. Their chemistry was unreal enough to drown out the peripheral voices of cognitive dissonances.
It wasn't all hot chocolate shake and marshmallows either. There were more layers to their relationship but it wasn't only because he was in love with someone else, or did not understand this little princess with her dainty mouth and long wild beautiful hair which could attract admirers from miles away. Their love was unreal for so many reasons. Their love wasn't love.