July 6th. International Kissing Day. Crash Davis says it best in (one of my favorite) movies, Bull Durham,
“I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.”
According to the brains behind Wikipedia, “the idea behind the International Kissing Day is that many people may have forgotten the simple pleasures associated with kissing for kissing’s sake, as opposed to kissing as mere social formality or prelude to other activities. Kissing can be an enjoyable experience in and of itself. It is an expression and experience of intimacy.” and honestly, I couldn’t agree more. Just reading that I think back to the time when kissing was IT. It was the end all be all. Being in my very first club on my very first trip abroad, talking to my very first dreamy Italian boy, half deciphering what he was saying and half wondering ‘is this it? Will I finally be kissed?’. Leaving the Halloween party freshman year with all my friends racing behind me, “Did you kiss him?!”. Celebrating my first New Years with friends and knowing at midnight there may be a kiss besides that of a relative drunkenly planting one on my cheek. Before kissing became the prelude to other activities, when the kiss in itself was enough excitement to fill hours worth of gossip with friends, when it was significant. A kiss can hold so much. A kiss can feel like possibility or pain or joy or lust or anger. Think about it, have you ever kissed someone and felt absolutely nothing at all? Even my worst, sloppiest, non-zsa zsa zu-y kisses have made me feel at least a little something (usually bad things, but still, feelings nontheless!).
Now I won’t be running out causing a kissing ruckus simply because it is International Kissing Day. That just ain’t my style. Instead, I will revel in my last kiss, because it was a great kiss. Not the perfect, sweep you off your feet because your knees are so goddamn weak afterward, but just perfect in so many other ways. We are at the airport. He’s leaving, I’m staying. I’m wishing he wouldn’t leave, I’m wishing we had more time, I’m wishing we had time for forty kisses instead of just two. But we kissed goodbye, and as I kissed him, I knew I’d miss him. Maybe it’s because the kiss was filled with longing and hope that maybe we could have more of these or maybe it’s because feeling so much kissing him gave me hope that finally, after months of being heartbroken, I will feel these feelings again. Either way, out there on the passenger drop off, my heart was pounding from the simple pleasures associated with a kiss.