I was driving along a road I'd driven on dozens of times before when lost in thought I began to run the tip of my wet tongue carelessly over my dried chapped lips. Out of the darkness of my subconscious a memory burried under 16 years of other experiences came rushing to the surface, and magically there I was again, 18 years old, kissing a boy after wetting his lips with my tongue to soften his cracked skin.
It feels as though all of my old memories belong to someone else now. Even though that boy doesn't exist anymore his memory is still in my head. I hope the man he has become is everything he'd hoped he would be, and if his lips become chapped, that his lover wets them before they kiss.
I wonder if in the darkest recesses of his mind there's a memory of my tongue tracing the shape of his mouth, and if someday it will surface. I hope he will imagine the woman I've become as one that still wets her lovers lips.