I was at work today and I saw a couple in their mid-twenties. The girl’s height made it so that she could cuddle in his chest while he planted kisses on her forehead. Both were clearly enjoying each other’s company and physical touch.
I’m just here to talk about kisses. Forehead kisses, blessing kisses, eskimo nose-ing… so much better than the deep romantic kisses with tongue you see over and over in the movies.
Giving and receiving kisses requires a certain state of mind that is warm. Generous. Less neurotic and more wonderful.
I remember my friend in university trying to give me a neck massage while I was in the computer lab. I certainly was in no space to receive kisses then.
Before all the teenage sadness, before the Rebecca Solnit quotes, before I thought reading and writing and processing media was the way to heal. I had kisses from my mom and dad.
And the simplicity yields itself beautifully over time.
On the whole, over the past few years, I’ve stopped writing as furiously as I did in prior years. (I even remember my dad saying that, I would be more desirable if I stopped writing in pen on my hands).
Sometimes, my dad will snoop on my writings and report to the police if the content disturbs him. Now, in place of self-correspondence and therefore evidence, my alternative process of emotional management is to ask Kai to kiss away the pain and confusion wordlessly. Only fair to adapt in a fraught, unfamiliar pandemic where intimacy and connection are rarer than ever.
But I digress.
What I am trying to say is that kisses are untraceable. Timeless. They supersede maelstroms of emotion… and even when I forget having received kisses on a certain day, at a certain place, in a certain time… the luck and gratitude I feel each time compounds inexplicably.
And when you can, I urge you. Find new, sweet, and funny places to kiss your loved ones. Eyebrows, feet (freshly washed and not stinky), inside the collarbone, armpits… and blow a raspberry or two if he’ll let you.