Is it bad to wonder, what wandering in this foreign land would feel like? I want to trace the paths of her journeys without her mouth moving.
A perfectly formed mouth stood before me. Perfect not because of its shape, but because of the kind of words it seemed capable of verbalizing; Confident words, words laced with nuance, words whose breaths I could hear. Words that could form ideas of stories in my mind. I travelled to moments I would have on the rooftop of an apartment building in whose small corner sits even my smaller apartment. Of moments spent swallowing small sips of Pilsner while sharing stories with the bearer of the mouth.
Stories I couldn’t figure out. Stories I knew I would love because I knew the kind of reaction they would elicit in me. I am a lover of stories, I would love to love a bearer of stories. A daughter of lands that are yet to be defined. A child who seeks her journeys in the twinkles of the sky, comfortable with quiet walks in the desert sand. A woman whose feet could sense the movement of a desert snake several metres away, whose toes would curl by hearing the snap of a scorpion’s tail.
I want to seek foreign lands on her body, taste stories in languages I can never understand on her lips. I want to make her moan in sounds even the creatures of the night will stop to listen to. To make her fingers and nails search for lost lands, lost memories and seek redemption in the flesh of my back. I don’t want her to call my name. I want her to mouth, and have her mouth freeze with the lips perfectly formed in the mouthing of my name. Freezing the moment. I am a traveller, a nomad who travels through time. I like my moments frozen in time. I want her cocktail of emotions frozen on her lips.
I want to remember. Because travellers’ moments get buried in sand over time. It is moments I want to keep. I will have crossed over to the forbidden. I would have broken something. She would have left something in me. I want to take something from her. I have to take something from her. I want to make the convergence of her thighs scream my name whenever any other man will make her climax in future. Because she will never hit that peak. I want to be the high she will always seeks in other men’s bodies.
Native Essays 