Who taught you to kiss?
I felt ridiculously emotional about you today; I hope that impending grapefruit explains it. At any rate, even after I got up, it seemed immensely rational this morning to invest in a company that would breed a grapefruit tree capable of bearing in season in my parents’ backyard despite the snow, and to call my retirement adviser to urge him to move all of my savings into that grapefruit futures credit default swap derivative thingie.
Or maybe I’ve been looking at the wrong stuff, torturing myself. Helping out a little with this post last night, I got sucked into a key scenes rewatch of Between the Sheets, something I don’t let myself do very often.
Well, okay, it wasn’t just that. Although I like that stuff. And, as Jas notes, you are beautiful in rear exposure. There’s also this:
It’s my favorite mischievous brown-haired, boy-next-door look. Even if red isn’t really your color. And this was nine years ago, now. And you’d be better with a beard.
After chatting last night, and then watching selected scenes, I drifted off, the fantasy of you, brown-haired and naive, in my arms, and woke up, the fantasy of me in your muscular, Porter-esque arms. I lay there and let the fantasy take over.
And my fears didn’t matter when you kissed me, opening with the gentle, patient, waiting caresses of the lips with which you often start a love scene.
Lucas North (Richard Armitage) kisses Sarah Caulfield (Genevieve O’Reilly) in the instant after he gets the proof that she’s lying to him, in Spooks 8.5. All the more poignant because of all the lies in this scene — not just hers to him, but his to hers — and then the kiss, so gentle. My cap.
Who taught you these kisses, I often wonder. So pregnant with emotion, so unhurried, another way of speaking when your tongue has no more words. Who taught you to caress, and then wait for a response? To forget yourself so fully? How did you learn that the lips could be the extension of a gentle soul, reaching out for connection? Promising tenderness? Tracing the trajectory of an emotion too complex to speak itself?