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The lips that I didn't fully touch with my own shocked me. I'd not expected the sensation to be so -wet- as the corner of my mouth brushed yours and it brought me back to reality, brought me back to thinking. I wasn't supposed to be so attracted to you, you know? At least not after I'd just discovered how horrendously you frightened me. I never tried to kiss you again after that awkward moment, even when you stared into my eyes and there was only one possible thing you could have wanted. I opted to play dumb, over and over again. So eventually you ended it, because you felt that I didn't trust you. You're right. I didn't. Don't. And I still flinch every time I think that I -almost- fully kissed those lips that said so many things I should've hated, and instead just smiled mutely, and ate it all up. No longer out of anger with you, but with myself.
Yet now I've started to forgive the both of us. Lips of another have helped me. Lips that spoke words which deemed me beautiful, told me that I was a wonderful human being, and made me really believe that I was worth something again. These lips drive me wild, and send heat through my veins I'd been too afraid to let myself feel since I'd felt that way for you. I trace my finger along the edge of the pictures he sends me and wish that those lips were here, and were mine to kiss, to taste, and to trust.