Writing The Tides

Cheiloproclitic (adj.)

For writers, words are everything.

Words break, words love, words mend- words can capture what is lost, and recollect the puzzles of our thoughts to form an experience. Words are not just a form of communication, but they are a bond.

In fact, there are very few moments in a writer's life that cannot be reconciled through language.

For Keith, this was one of them.

Time was a blur. It was humans that constructed the idea of time, and it could not have been more evident to Keith than at that minute of his life; shouting like a warzone coming from all sides, a second of hesitance filled with booze and truth, and the next moment- before Keith could think, a set of lips were smashed against his.

Lips.

Lips.

Lips.

Lance.

Keith's senses were overridden with the taste of caramel and the next thing he knew: the world was blue.

///

Keith had learned, if anything, that drowning was very much possible with two feet on ground.

Drowning in debt, lies, insecurities...

...Another boy's arms.

Anxiety had been present for most of his life, and he had his fair share of panic attacks; (loss of air on land is almost worse than complete lack of air underwater) and Keith could never just "breathe", he tended to over think; I mean, how dare he take this moment to inhale the polluted sky and rob oxygen from someone else who might need it more.

Pollution was the worst.

Keith's world was full of it. His mind, his thoughts, his body, his hands...

....on another boy's waist.

Keith had never tasted so much oxygen at once, and still refused to breathe.

Keith thought, maybe he liked drowning...

Maybe a little too much.

///

The moment was over before it began.

Keith could've sworn it lasted a lifetime, maybe forever. But forever isn't always a long time, and before he knew it his lips were stripped and the party went on without him.

Mentally, that is.

Physically, he was still seated between the boy he'd just kissed and the girl he'd never met, his fingers traced his lips to check if they were still there. They were, and they tasted like sea salt.

"Whoo!" Rolo was getting drunker by the minute, which meant the party wouldn't be lasting much longer, "Who's next!?"

"Ugh I'm tired, let's dance!" Nyma shot straight up to the stereo, where she cranked up the volume to some Rihanna song at full blast.

The people cheered, and Keith found the strength in his legs to finally get up. He looked to his left, but Lance was gone.

He sighed at no one in particular, and turned for the exit.

///

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?"