Some time ago I kissed
a boy. To me, he was really just a boy though, in fact, for the society, a full grown
up man. What can I say? Every male who is more than 4 years younger than me, to me, is a boy.
The boy and I inhabit
different planets: he belongs to the skaters sub-culture, dropped out of
college because “he makes his videos anyway, what could they
possibly teach him at school?” and we have so little in common that it´s for me still quite inexplicable that we reciprocally found us funny and kind of liked each other.
Fact is that the
boy is, in a very uncommon way, sweet and pretty fascinating in his slightly arrogant yet somehow low key self-confidence. He loves
to flirt and he seems to have a natural talent for that.
Doubtlessly, he has a talent for kissing. So, a late summer evening some weeks ago, this silly red fruit
inexplicably found herself in a park, with the sun setting, kissing this boy.
For hours.
Nothing more and
nothing less.
One beautiful and somehow
forgotten pleasure; it was like being 14 again, blissfully enjoying the moment without thinking of any potential evolution of the situation. Since there wasn´t any possible evolution of the situation.
Today I was thinking of the Synagogue in my town and I remembered that it was in front of that building that I met the boy the first time. And it made me think of the evening at the park. Though I will quite probably never see the boy again, the recollection made me smile, like a dreamy teenie.
So, boys and men of the planet, I have a little suggestion: never, ever ever ever underevaluate the importance of the tiny, dazzling, simple things in life.
And the importance of learning thoroughly - and never unlearn - to kiss well.
