In this day and age, sometimes we forget to "stop and smell the roses".
Thus, a personal social experiment begins...little tokens of love, to me...from me...because if/when you don't put yourself first with the right amount of love, how can one ever give themselves fully and their love to others?
Welcome to love me "do's" - a journey and exploration into loving one self completely and living life to the fullest...every single day.
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Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Love Token 112: You Me & Charlie
I stumbled onto Diana Agron's blog today and I really LOVE it.
While I admit I am not a "Gleek", I like this actress and her perspectives.
Husbands and wives don’t grow on trees, like in the old days.
So where does one find love?
When you’re sixteen it’s easy, like being unleashed with a credit card
in a department store of kisses.
There’s the first kiss.
The sloppy kiss. The peck.
The sympathy kiss. The backseat smooch.
The we shouldn’t be doing this kiss.
The but your lips taste so good kiss.
The bury me in an avalanche of tingles kiss.
The I wish you’d quit smoking kiss.
The I accept your apology, but you make me really mad sometimes kiss.
The I know your tongue like the back of my hand kiss.
As you get older, kisses become scarce.
You’ll be driving home and see a damaged kiss on the side of the road, with its purple thumb out.
If you were younger, you’d pull over, slide open the mouth’s red door just to see how it fits.
Oh where does one find love?
If you rub two glances, you get a smile.
Rub two smiles, you get a warm feeling.
Rub two warm feelings and presto-you have a kiss.
Don’t invite the kiss over and answer the door in your underwear.
It’ll get suspicious and stare at your toes.
Don’t water the kiss with whiskey.
It’ll turn bright pink and explode into a thousand luscious splinters, but in the morning it’ll be ashamed and sneak out of your body without saying good-bye, and you’ll remember that kiss forever by all the little cuts it left on the inside of your mouth.
You must nurture the kiss.
Turn out the lights.
Notice how it illuminates the room.
Hold it to your chest and wonder if the sand inside hourglasses comes from a special beach.
Place it on the tongue’s pillow, then look up the first recorded kiss in an encyclopedia: beneath
a Babylonian olive tree in 1200 B.C.
But one kiss levitates above all the others.
The intersection of function and desire. The I do kiss.
The I’ll love you through a brick wall kiss.
Even when I’m dead, I’ll swim through the Earth, like a mermaid of the soil, just to be next to your bones.