A kiss.

It was a kiss.1

It was born from the flames of passion. It was conceived in the caves of lust. It was delivered on the zephyr of love. It was raised in the liquid tendrils of harmony.2

It was necessity. It was pride. It was craving. It was hunger. It was thirst. It was sun. It was moonlight. It was perfection. It was need. It was blood. It was tears. It was salt. It was fear. It was mourning. It was forgiveness. It was laughter. It was secrecy. It was a child’s smile. It was a baby’s first steps. It was green. It was sorrow. It was light. It was darkness. It was color. It was monotone. It was fresh. It was air. It was bliss. It was happiness. It was summer. It was sakura. It was a painting. It was a Polaroid. It was lightning. It was a rose. It was rain. It was thunder. It was tranquility. It was amazement. It was bright. It was stars. It was blue. It was Shakespeare. It was Batman. It was real. It was a joke. It was beer. It was drunk. It was paper. It was clay. It was a butterfly. It was a dinosaur. It was a single eye in the forest. It was the archer with perfect aim. It was dreams. It was nightmares. It was death. It was bodies on the floor. It was red. It was delicious. It was sweet. It was sour. It was candy. It was chocolate. It was valentines on Christmas. It was unexpected. It was it was destiny. It was fate. It was prophecy. It was meant to be. It was sunflowers. It was bumblebees. It was birds. It was trees. It was a fox. It was a desert. It was a prince. It was an oasis. It was hope. It was love. It was suicide. It was birth. It was anorexia. It was bulimia. It was abuse. It was skies. It was clouds. It was ice. It was. It was. It was.3

Everything.4

I didn't expect our first kiss to happen. I didn't expect that, never even thought that, someone that beautiful would ever want to kiss me. But lo and behold, I was standing in a run down apartment building, in my tattered jeans and gray striped shirt, cheap skate shoes on my feet, my hair freshly cut, clipped from its long excellence to a butchered mushroom cut, a haircut for a guy. A few weeks before, I had changed my name. Before, the moniker had been a joking nickname. Now it was official. It fit my haircut. A guys haircut, a guys name. No longer would I introduce myself by that flowery, unfitting name my parents had given me. It was no longer. That name fit me now like a baggy white tshirt, the kind of tshirt that no one wants to wear. It was tacky, white, and cheap. from now on I would introduce myself by my new name. It fit like a glove, perfect, just for me. Other people might try it on, but it was always too small for them. My new identity was just for me. It fit like...my cheap purple leather shoes. It fit like my sleek black straightjacket, which i bought at a yard sale and dyed black. It fit like my necklace, which hung down perfectly, framing itself dead center between my collarbones.5

It fit like my sunglasses.