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Creative Writing Love

Tongue Play

Childhood innocence died today.

Love came out of ex nihilo.

I ziplocked some of his clothes retaining his smell.

He parked his tongue in my mouth. A velvet rut.

Knowing that love had an expiration date, an obvious thought appeared like a stain: I think I’ll just hold your tongue with mine.

The idea of love is true and false at the same time.

Love was everything and nothing after this kiss.

And then I laid my eyes on him; my brown eyes on his sharp jawline and lips.

When he hugged my tongue, the lips enclosing it in a bear hug, I knew that it would be fine.

We all want this storybook fantasy.

When it comes to this theme of love, the finer points are always exaggerated, but the broader strokes in its narrative feels very true.

Yet, love is still very much a lie.

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