72 Limited Inventory

This is awkward. You entered my space, aiming your face into that quasi-zone where a kiss should result from the natural flow of things.

Or not.

Unfortunately, I've kissed and kissed and kissed, and I used up my very last kiss the other day, wasted on someone who couldn't have cared less. A wasted kiss is such a personal tragedy--for each of us seducees.

Yet, you smiled at me kindly, giving me a pass on the little hole in our lives that had just opened. A hole easily filled with that kiss. If holes cannot be filled with a kiss, then with just a reciprocated--mutually inclusive--smile.

Your smile goes unanswered.

I've smiled and smiled and smiled, and I smiled my last smile--miles of smiles ago. A journey's thousand steps, begun with that first footfall, prematurely ended with that final, empty smile I stumbled over. It failed because it was a nervous smile, evoked by finally knowing where I stood with someone else.

I've cried and cried and cried, but I can't cry any more tears because I cried out my last ones, running out. They were cried for all the right reasons, but were finally wasted on just the physical pain from a broken heart.

I gave some and gave some more. No longer can I give my all. I used all my all up with the last good try. Was it worth using my last all? Did it even matter?

I no longer have an abundance of caution, let alone proceed with it. I used up most of it on my last intimacy, if you can believe that. Unbelievable! I've little abundance left, let alone even an abundance of it.

I can't try anymore. I've failed yet tried and tried and tried again. All for nothing.

Life used me up, my inventories depleted: my lips are sealed and fixed; my eyes are dry and cracked; I can't try anymore; and my all has decayed into not-even-some.

But your remind me of a promise waiting around your corner. You escort me, for promises can restock any outward signs of kisses and smiles and love.

So I follow, throwing what little caution is left, to the wind.