When I did get my first kiss, it was this chubby Mexican hipster, a year or so younger than me, who I went to a really crappy movie with (August Rush, anyone?). He stuck his equally chubby tongue all the way in my mouth. It was pretty fucking awful. And this after holding my hand until it was sweaty through about half the movie.
But let's get back to the point (there was a point?).
Before that, I was pining for a kiss. Then I went on sort of a kissing spree (games of spin-the-bottle, impromptu three-way make-out sessions with friends, etc.) and never really got the point of kissing. It seemed messy and lacking in the fun that people say it holds.
Then I kissed a boy that I was really in love with. I had had a boyfriend before, and had kissed him, but I never really loved him, and I didn't enjoy it. But this... Kyle... when he kissed me, it was like everything clicked. It's like our mouths were made to be together (although, thinking about that seems a little gross), and I finally understood what the hell people were talking about (although I still think movie kisses look awkward and terrible).
So, I had that for over a year. I had a patient, giving sexual partner for about a year... and now I'm stuck pining again. I mean, I thought I was horny before the relationship... now that I don't have anyone to bone, I'm going a bit crazy.
Not only did I have the physical things, I had the little gestures, the funny commentary on life, the warm feeling when you fall asleep next to someone and know that they won't turn into a monster in the morning.*
Life goes on, as normal. I'm trying to wake up for class (and failing, usually), and trying to get my homework done (and usually succeeding), and hanging out with people (some obnoxious, some fairly chill), but there is this space in my life that I'm saving. It's like I'm a bird, building a nest, but I can't wait for another supporting branch to grow before I put all my bits of string and pine needles and plant-matter together. So I'm teetering on a lackluster nest, waiting for the branch to grow a bit. My bed, my shower, my kitchen, and my living room feel empty. My cat is begging for my attention, my chameleon is mad because I don't have to time to pick up crickets as often as I should, my bills are asking to be paid, and I just want to sit inside and watch Casablanca, because that's OUR movie, and drink rum and coke, because that's OUR drink.
People tell you to move on, and make a life for yourself when you've moved into a long-distance relationship, but it's not easy. When you're used to relying on someone's humor to get you through the tough times, or their kiss to reassure you that everything will be okay, it's hard to get the satisfaction out of things that you used to be enthusiastic about. New experiences feel cheap, because you have no one to really share it with. And you begin to feel jealous about the stories your significant other tells you about hanging out with your old friends, doing things you all used to do. You understand, and hope, that their lives go on without you, but you're a little broken up that they do, as well, because you just can't seem to get your shit together. What the hell kind of drug are they on that they can just go on living?
Oh yeah... they actually have drugs.
Well, I guess I'll just see how I do in Spanish tomorrow, live through Sociology, get my journalism homework done, and work on studying for the Race Relations test on Friday (which I keep sleeping through, coincidentally).
... it seems easier to watch someone else let the love of their life go in black and white than to commit myself to this dreary life.
*Actually, Kyle is kind of an awful person if you try to wake him up. He always feels bad afterwards, but he says the meanest things when I shake him awake, even if he's asked me to.
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