Ok, so this was something i wrote back in RSAC. We had a writing workshop with Stephenie (insert last name that i cant remember). She was great, and our assighnment was to write the story of our partner's "first Kiss". I was paried up with this girl, Chenelle, (she's cool), And this is her story, IN SHAKESPERIAN AMBIC PANTAMITER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (well twords the end, but all is in old english)<3333 (i is a genius)
My first kiss? What really is the first kiss? Is it the mother’s, when she lays them upon your forehead on the starry night of sole creation? Or the father’s, who greet you home with butterflies and Eskimo’s? Or does it belong to the first crush of noble youth. The first love to catch your fancy, and the first to see you back through the rose tinted glasses…yes. Upon this case in time, yes.
Twas not too long ago, but far too distant to recall all detail. Youth eludes you when you need it most, in times of reminiscing and remembrance. But I remember the sum of it; the number adding more or less to the actual…the palace of knowledge upon papyrus and page is where the play take place. Playmates often turn to jesters in time of love’s game, and turn dreams to nightmares, secrets to truths. My eyes had rested upon his for time to long to measure, and devotion invisible became too desperate to sustain still. Upon companions of mine, knowing these sacred truths had spotted the key of my heart wandering upon isles of isles. Without my recognition, one had slipped away like grains of sand in my cellophane hand and had met in the median of the clustered shelves that isolated him from my place of being. And as the slithering snake parted her lips, words unbearable to my thought had begun to pour out. Upon what I had hoped would never know, he had discovered. My mates had urged us to share a holy palmer’s touch; but I no Juliet nor he any Romeo. Unrequited, was my biggest fear. Unrequited was what I was sure he had felt,, and so I fled; fueled on embarrassment, shame and the pain of my slowly cracking heart and kept my dreams of holy palmers touch to the attic of my cloudy mind.I had slowed down to a stop, and I leaned against a pillar. Oh, how I wished I could have been this pillar; tall and sturdy; unbreakable. Solitary and stationary, and never needing to feel the sting of the painful cupid arrow. Oh how I wish I could just disappear like rain in to the sky…but also I could not, nor I cannot.
So I sat there in my sorrow. I sat there until it felt like the hands of time had halted to a stop and every move I had made was slowed down, like walking completely submerged into water. Life would have gone on like that for me if not for his hands touching my face. My love had come after me, and for seconds we just leaned against the pillar. His gentle hand upon my face, brushed my wired hair away from my forever seeing eye. And almost like a movie, we had moved only moments and we touched. The softness of thine lips pressed against mine and my lips held on like fire to a candle-wick. But it was no fire. No fireworks or signs, but it was simple, plain and beautiful bliss. For first kiss, shouldn’t be confused with first love; and although I had called him love, it was not true.
Friends are friends, and lovers are lovers; and we may love our friends but we must never forget that love is never a friend. So my first kiss, beautiful and lovely. I shared it with someone I love, but not in the idealistic way. I love him, I still do, but a friend’s love is all I ask of. Isn’t that the best? Love of a friend. It is better to be loved by a friend than any other, and a friend’s love can never truly die. Tis eternal like the sun, and although sometimes shines dim or dull, tis forever truly lovely and rare like the fall.
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