Mostly I like you because your mouth reminds me of one that may have touched his. The ghost of the idea has taken form and hurts me with a bittersweet force, like I just removed Cupid’s arrow from my punctured chest to rub the splinters over my body.
I never met her but I can taste the way her kiss would feel. His breath on her cheek and then a slight moisture where his lips find hers, clumsily, almost missing. She hesitates and then responds slowly, the atoms on her bottom lip rushing like wildfire. Softly, no need for movement or pressure when the slightest touch comes so close to perfection and yet she if she absorbed him whole it would still leave her unsatisfied. He opens his eyes to see a smile half-closing around her prominent front teeth, the light in her eyes too bright not to share.
Mostly I like you because when I’m reduced to a skulking shadow in the corner of my own mind, your face brings it to life. A vicarious torment is still better than nothing at all.