There is no truth. There are the lies that hurt and the ones that don’t. There are the words she speaks and the ones she keeps coiled up under the tongue. Have you wondered why you have never felt her tongue through the kisses you have shared? For you to lock your tongue with hers would mean feeling the acrid burn of words that have stayed there so long, they have turned toxic. You only have her lips, the lips that move to let a taste in. But it’s the tongue that knows ecstasy, knows the hot from the cold, the lover from the whore. It is what lets you in to her soul.

Know this, you have only earned her gratitude. You have only touched the warmth of her being. The passion that stirs her, you know nothing about. For you have only kissed her lips. The lips only leave marks, the tongue leaves its taste and scent. Do you see those marks on your shirt? That’s all you have. As lifeless as a crayon smudge or an ink spill. The marks of pretty shop-front lips.

It’s the tongue that craves and brings one home. And you remain an outsider, wanting in on the many worlds within. It’s a long wait ahead. I hope you have salvaged enough pieces of your heart to break. For break, it will.