Memory

You’d always look at me when we slept together. I felt the warmth of the sun and your smile beam on my face. You began to kiss my forehead.

I ran towards my brother. “You’re dead!” He was too fast for me. Something flew from behind him. It was a black orange, tainted with mud. It hit me in the eyes. I continued blindly running towards him; I knew the place, I’d be alright. I crashed into a pole. My forehead had to be sewn.

I felt your breath on my hair. I suppressed a smile. Your lips met my cheeks. I couldn’t hold the smile any longer. Your lips made a path of small kisses leading to my lips, leaving behind a trail warmness created by my blushing. When our lips met, I felt your smile and I couldn’t help but smile even more. Our tongues met and began to do an intricate dance, a swordfight for dominance.

“Where is my mom?” My aunt hadn’t the slightest idea. She left the kitchen and I was sitting on the kitchen table, alone. I want my mommy, I thought. I jumped off, biting my tongue. A part of my tongue tangled, left unnoticed. Hours later doctors will sew my tongue together. They feared I wouldn’t speak properly.

I whispered, good morning while our lips parted for seconds. It became more passionate. I could feel your heartbeat on me. I could feel your happiness, but I knew long before the kiss was over, long before we were over, that we’d end up separated.

I knew that as your lips pressed against mine you’d become another scar upon my face. I knew then, that you will soon become a distant memory, someone I’d vaguely remember in my old age. (via)