Kisses well earned

“…but he doesn’t deserve to kiss you.” were the last words she said to me. I didn’t respond because I wasn’t sure how to. I didn’t like the definitiveness of her statement. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, and so I rebutted with silence. 

When I woke up this morning it was still on my mind. I wrestled with the idea of holding my body too sacred a vessel, if there was such a thing. But I bucked against the antiquated and patriarchal notion that a woman’s value was in her discriminate virtue.  However, I also understood the idea that there was and should be a process of discernment for those with whom I choose to exchange intimate energy with. I was torn between what I wanted and what I deserved. 

It seemed like a silly conundrum to be in. Why wouldn’t I want what I deserved? Why were those two things contrary from each other? I considered him…every cell in my being wanted him. Parts of him. For specific purposes. I was beginning to see the conflict, and more aptly I was beginning to see myself. 

Was I willing to be taken in pieces? Essentially, if I were soliciting that I was also offering it. I’ve found that relationships are the very best mirrors we have. And what I was sure of was that I wasn’t giving all of me to anyone because I sure as hell wasn’t receiving it. It was all splintered. 

I forced myself to reconsider her assertion. “…he doesn’t deserve to kiss you.” Then I thought about the fact that he already had. For those moments we exchanged the pieces of ourselves that we were willing to give and none of the things worth giving. I’d wager to say that we both felt a pull to give more. He backed away from it and I questioned, both of us still clinging tight to the good shit. 

Who does deserve to kiss me? I didn’t ask her but I asked myself. I thought about my patterns. My penchant for emotionally unavailable men. My knack for being equally elusive. I wanted someone who kissed me when it felt right. Just because they missed my lips or thought of how much they loved me. I no longer wanted quiet admiration or the dramatic guesswork of ambiguity. I wanted to love and be loved out loud. 

I touched my lips and remembered his on mine. Soft bites and how knowing he seemed to be of the things that I liked. And I thought even that wasn’t enough. It didn’t sustain me and immediately after the moment passed, I was thirsty again. I wanted more. I needed real nourishment. So, I turned towards the sun and began to open. 


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