Zane
I was kissing her again.
It was becoming a thing, just like casual hand holding, or touching her, my lips had this insane mad desire to taste hers - and I watched myself, the self-control, the insecurity of people using me for their own selfish reasons, slowly slip away with each piece of myself I gave - each piece she took.
Because that's what kissing was.
Personal.
Intimate.
A very real way to share your feelings about someone without actually saying them - I was a wordsmith, it was my job to make people believe with my words that I was in love with them, that I was in love with love.
But my lips?
They had always been mine.
My virginity, mine.
They couldn't take it - because I refused to give it.
Nobody should ever feel like they have to give pieces of themselves in order
