Sometimes, I wish that you’d kiss me more

I don't dare to tell you that, because I don't want you to think that I'm greedy (which I am) or ungrateful (which I am not).

I do cherish every single moment when your soft lips touch mine like it's my last moment on Earth. In fact, at that moment, I wish that it was the last one. I wish that I could just stay like that forever, captured in an illusion of us together, loving and tender.

And because I am greedy, I want more of it. I want more taste of that romance, because it feels so, so good when you are soft to me. So good, that I freeze when it happens, afraid that even the slightest of my movements might make you change your mind. Hoping that maybe if I remain still, you won't notice how much pleasure you are giving me, and continue longer.

I think that you know exactly how much your kisses mean to me, though, and that is why you are granting me that privilege so rarely. And I'm glad that you do. I'm glad that it's you who is deciding when and how I am going to receive pleasure from you. And that you are so frugal when rationing it. I'm glad that your mind is so strong and composed when mine is squishy and soft and restless. 

Because if I could, all I would do, would be to kiss you. I would bathe in the taste of your lips day after day after day until I would grow so sick of it that I wouldn't want to taste them ever again and I would lose your kisses forever.

Sometimes, I wish that you'd kiss me more and I'm glad that my wishes are not what guides your choices. I'm glad that you are so relentless in not giving me what I want. I'm glad that my disappointment and desperation is what gives pleasure to you.

Because underneath that layer of neediness and softness, there is the me who needs to prove herself to deserve tenderness. There is the me who only appreciates what requires effort and hardship. The me who needs a constant challenge.   

And I know that it's not easy to be that challenge. 

I can't help but wonder, though, are you treating me this way because you know that scarcity is what I need, even though it's the abundance that I want? Are you catering to my deeper needs, the ones that I wouldn't express, but that actually need fulfilment? Do you want the tenderness and romance as much as I do on the surface, but you're just smarter than to give it to me?

Or… Do you simply not care about me, and are you kind to me from time to time out of pity, just enough to keep me coming back, but not enough to ever satisfy me? Is cruelty all you care about and are your kisses a necessary evil, a prize that I'm granted for 'good' behaviour, and that you generously put up with when you feel that it’s time for it? 

These are the questions that cross my mind when I am getting desperate about the fact that I could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times that you've truly deeply kissed me. And when I am thinking about how much I enjoy and admire this fact and how devoted to you it makes me feel.

I hope that I will never learn the answers to these questions because I need them all to be positive. And that's impossible, I know. Or is it? 

It would be impossible, once I've heard the answers, but as long as I don't, I can believe them all to be true. Sometimes, I can believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast. I'm one of those, you know? Like with the Schrödinger's cat, as long as I don't open the box, all the possibilities are equally true and valid. And I need them to be.

Because sometimes, I need to believe that you don't care about me, otherwise the foundations of our dynamic would fall apart. And other times, I need to believe that you do, because otherwise what is between us would be a simple abuse and I would be its naive victim.

The uncertainty is what holds it all together. And even though I often wish it would go away, I know that it's a cowardly wish for safety. And like with the kisses, fulfilling it would take away from me what I really want. 

Sometimes I wish that you'd kiss me more, but I hope that you never will.