I remember the time you put your tongue between my lips and told me how you’ve never kissed anyone with the taste of licorice in their mouths. You let your hands drop down my waist and said that I’m made of the bitter taste of Heaven. Your fingers traced my shoulder and my heart pounded like the fire of a million sun.
I saw in your eyes what I saw in all of my ones, the reasons why you and I could make atoms explode and recreate the universe.
I remember that morning I woke up, and your gentle embrace was holding me like a fetus that’s not ready to come out and face the world. And you told me that life could wait for us to just hide in between the folds of the waves crashing on our shore.
I felt like your body was the home I was desperately looking for, and your bones were the frame to the bed I wanted to sleep in forever.
I remember that day you took me by the hand and we ran across the fallen leaves. You broke my shell and told me that life is too short to do the same things twice. And you whispered to me that sometimes people are like memories even when they stain your sheets with wine.
I only understood that you were talking about me when I saw your slouching back running towards another fleeting flashback.