I feel like I could kiss you,
And my lips wouldn't feel like ice or mercury or death. Rather...

Warmth.
Not the kind of warmth you feel with a new pair of wool socks.

The kind of warmth you feel when your 6 foot 6 football-playing-friend embraces you like a lovable toothpick after his workout.
Where the sweat drips on your cheeks and forehead, and your legs lift off the ground and you know he truly loves you as a friend.

It's more that kind of love.
But still not quite.



The kind of warmth you feel when everyone is asleep and you're sitting in the darkness alone, dozens of miles from settlement, and you've kept the campfire going. The sun is starting to rise, you can see the blue in the sky. The heavy blanket around your body has protected you from the piercing cold. And you hear that zipper of the tent come undone and you see the white of a smile.

That kind of warmth.