fran

There’s a kiss for every occasion. The playful little pecs, more laughter than lips. The sweet brush of warmth, a preview of what’s to come. The soft press of a mouth to the side of a neck, teeth gently nipping, breath ghosting over sensitive skin. The first one. The last one.

Oh, it’s mutual — mutual attraction, mutual affection, mutual obsession, mutual annoyance. Nothing is unrequited.

I say, ‘maybe you should hold my hand so we don’t get separated by the crowd.’ But what I mean is, ‘crawl inside the cage of my ribs and plant yourself in the soil of my heart, grow roots so deep the world will never be able to pull you out.’

This show had them kissing like this and it’s still not as gay as real life Emily writing to Sue saying, “I tore open your letter and licked the envelope's seal for any lingering trace of you.”

(Affectionately, lovingly, flirty) There’s something deeply wrong with you

There’s a difference in intentions: You bite to consume and you kiss to be consumed.

Some people love boldly, with colourful words and daring gestures. Others tuck confessions into tender touches, into looks, into smiles, quiet and subtle but just as fierce. It doesn’t matter how loudly you love; it only matters that you do, that the one you love feels it too.

Mornings aren’t so bad when it’s just us in a sunlit kitchen and you ask, ‘How do you like your eggs?’ ‘With you,’ I reply, because I know it’ll make you roll your eyes, but there is laughter hidden in the corners of your mouth. It tastes sweet when I steal it off your lips.

The big three? You mean a yearning heart, big bright eyes, and a pitiful pout? You could say I’m a connoisseur.

Conversation, when you’re with someone who is fluent in your way of thinking and indulges all your tangents, always feels too short. You run out of time before you run out of words, even after hours and hours.

Let’s say I flirt in a language you don’t speak, with words you have yet to learn. Let’s say you ask me to translate and I lie because the truth would give me away. Let’s say you understand anyway.

Mine would read ‘Arrived safely but a part of me is delayed. My heart always gets stuck halfway between where I am and where you stayed.’

It’s not a fairytale or a tragedy but something fragile in between, like real life love stories tends to be: I’m too scared to push and you’re too oblivious to pull and we’ve become so good at being friends who will love each other the most, too much, until the very end.

I don’t believe in love at first sight but I believe in recognition at first glance. Because the heart is a muscle, it has memory. Because it remembers, it messes up the rhythm when it sees the person it used to beat for a lifetime ago, maybe two or even three.

Flirting (verb): baiting each other into the silliest arguments just so that we can laugh our way out of them. Just so that I have an excuse to make you blush and you have a reason to come closer, under the pretence of shutting me up.

I’m not the clingy type but if we were trees I’d tangle your roots with mine so our branches could grow around each other, entwined.

Almost forgot that this was the whole point (loving people, pets, little interests and big obsessions, a pretty view, food you cooked and food that was cooked for you, every flower you smell, every sunset you see, the moon, nature, and art… until you run out of heart)

There’s nothing hotter than kindness, nothing sexier than sweetness, and no one more lovable than a person who has plenty of both.

I know how to get a smile out of you and the quickest way to make you mad, too. I know what makes you shy and how you sound when you lie. I know what you want to say even when we go without talking the whole day. I know you so well, it’s no wonder I fell.

It couldn’t have been anyone else after you.