To make known; to manifest; to show; to declare
She said that when I look at her with that intense gaze that makes her playfully ask "What??", to which I answer simply "You", it's known as kithing. The title of this post is the textbook definition of "Kithe".
I can say that I love how she makes me feel. I tell her I love being with her. I love the way she looks at me. I love looking at her. I kithe at her without being aware of it. I mainfest my feelings... I show and declare things that I myself am not even fully aware of. I kithe. My soul calls out to her and makes itself known from my eyes in ways that I cannot form into language. I kithe to her.
And yet, as I fall for her in ways I've never felt before, and freely use the word "love" in every indirect sense except for making that ray-like statement of how I feel for her, I think she knows.
I thought I'd made love before. I realize now that I simply misused "making love" as a polite term for intercourse with a certain amount of friendly affection.
I made love for the first time in my life. With every thrust, every moan, every desperate gasp for air, my heart ached ever more deeply and painfully than I ever dreamt possible until I couldn't bear the weight, upon which came an explosive peak of physical and metaphysical outpouring.
I kithe to her with my eyes. I kithe to her with my body. I kithe to her with my thoughts, my dreams, and my now-rekindled hope for the future.
Yet why do I hesitate?
I can say that I love how she makes me feel. I tell her I love being with her. I love the way she looks at me. I love looking at her. I kithe at her without being aware of it. I mainfest my feelings... I show and declare things that I myself am not even fully aware of. I kithe. My soul calls out to her and makes itself known from my eyes in ways that I cannot form into language. I kithe to her.
And yet, as I fall for her in ways I've never felt before, and freely use the word "love" in every indirect sense except for making that ray-like statement of how I feel for her, I think she knows.
I thought I'd made love before. I realize now that I simply misused "making love" as a polite term for intercourse with a certain amount of friendly affection.
I made love for the first time in my life. With every thrust, every moan, every desperate gasp for air, my heart ached ever more deeply and painfully than I ever dreamt possible until I couldn't bear the weight, upon which came an explosive peak of physical and metaphysical outpouring.
I kithe to her with my eyes. I kithe to her with my body. I kithe to her with my thoughts, my dreams, and my now-rekindled hope for the future.
Yet why do I hesitate?
1 Comments:
awww, thats so sweet! *vomit*
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