Sunsets make no apology neither should a kiss.
No one has ever stared at the sunrise
and said ‘how ugly is this’.
Neither should such be said about an embrace .

Hollywood has rewritten the kiss a thousand times. Yet, a true kiss is not behind a script or screen. It’s not fabricated, imitated or simulated. The kiss should hold no memories of previous lovers.

It should give wholly to the lovers lip and live for that moment alone.
Speaking of life, truth and eternal tenderness. It should erase all fears and grant trust, so we close our eyes.

The kiss should take initiative. With or without other members it is not compromised and is fearlessly given to reckless abandonment. It needs nothing other than itself, it’s complete, and the closest act toward perfection.

A kiss submits, but to no criteria as some may suggest.
It should make you feel an ocean and a cloud.
It should neither be soft, nor hard. It should just be, and until then, it will not become that sunrise nor the sunset, and you’ll be making apologies upon many lips.
Fear not, and look straight
into the flower of my eyes.
My petals are the green of hills,
the blue of mountains,
gold and silver of myrrh and incense
and softly grant splendorous peace,
dearest friend.

When you are broken
and cannot make sense
of your own words,
lift your voice, if you can,
to reach the leaves of my ears.
Their strange shape illumines
your unconsidered sorrow.
They hear and whisper oceans of truth,
dearest friend.

If life has left you
then look around you
for the stem of my body.
My love is rooted in yours
and will always be
your tall and reedy guide,
dearest friend.

Even a silent tomb
transforms
with a single flower,
and its mystery of love,
of joy,
of Gemütlichkeit.
Gemütlichkeit is that cozy feeling of delight when you spend time with a beloved friend.
Take a look around you,
Look at the room you're in,
Are you happy?
Do you recognise yourself.

Paint a page of your past,
Write a word that infuses you with life.
Here you're, looking at you through the invisible glass,
This is what it must feel like:
To be free,
To spread your feathers willingly into the storm,
To gaze at that elusive light;
For once, to look in the mirror and not deceive yourself.

Traverse further in time,
Can you find yourself?
All of what you're, had been staring at you,
Your eyes had predicted this,
You were just to adamant to grant them true sight,
Blurring them;
Always escaping to your poisons
Living life in flashes, satisfying your convoluted mind.
Are you happy?

Here you're, back where you lie
Realising the gravity of this time,
Wishing you could run as fast as you would,
You want to, you see,
You want to outrun your shadow,
But here you're seeking substitutes,
and pleased with yourself.
Hoping someone deciphers your pain from your being
Shares it, alleviates it.
For here you're, always stuck in between
these familiar walls.

— The End —