There are so many stories which our lips carry, arguably perhaps more than our heart. Our lips have actually touched another person. Our lips have mimicked out the words felt by our heart. They’re the ones that form into a downward crest before the heart has a chance to react, before the eyes overwhelm with icing waters of hurt. Our lips are the ones that suddenly cascade in an upward spiral when the heart meets someone pleasant to the eye or when our feet are attacked by soft tickles of another’s fingers. They’re the ones that embrace chapped skin when another’s lips touch ours in winter, the ones who linger slowly on the forehead of a heartfelt other. Our lips have spoken words of regret, words of anger, words of hopefulness. They’ve pleaded, they’ve begged, they’ve wished, they’ve sprinkled words of happiness, all under the direction of the well-covered heart. In this trail of confused thought, it makes me wonder, have our lips loved more than our beating heart will ever be capable of? And if our lips could speak freely, what would they actually say?
Inspired by Augury and Memory