The Kiss

It could have been missed.

Like an autumn leaf brushing against your hand in the wind. Not one of the hard, brittle, dried out leaves but the orange or yellow ones, still soft with the life that was – before rigour mortis sets in.

Of course, in previous lives it wouldn’t have meant much, really. Perhaps that’s all part of it? The rarity making it more precious, more meaningful.

It was almost stolen.

And the stealing of it made it more important. It’s not like there aren’t any – just none like this or, at least, not very often. And, in itself it would not normally mean much.

It was ‘in passing’.

As if not to be significant. Just like a ‘Hi’ to a friend across the street – even a mouthed ‘Hi’ – and yet, by its very casualness, it meant more.

It was so light.

Had I been busy I may not have noticed. They say ‘as light as a feather’, yet this was lighter.

No words were said, of course. They never are. I’m beginning to understand that they aren’t really necessary. In fact, almost by the lack of words, it means more – but I’m not sure I would have understood that years ago. In fact, I’m sure I wouldn’t have. You see how it all fits in – the timing, the meaning, the everything?

And talking of timing, we’re talking of microseconds. Not even a second. Being, as it was, unexpected, it could have been imagined. Except it wasn’t. I’m tuning into these things now, I think.

So, it was nothing really and yet, everything. Telling all, meaning everything as I stood in the kitchen doing something, as he walked behind me and his lips brushed the back of my shoulders in the microsecond of a kiss.

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