On the way to school, I was cautiously slurping the mocha and hot chocolate concoction my mother made in small increments, because it was too hot to cool down quickly enough with my saliva. Each time I sipped the warmth would turn into burning on my lips. The velocity of the car over a speed bump chucked my cupped hands back, and forth went a huge dollop of lava onto my tongue. It hurt, and I'm fine now, as I write this at the blade of the sun bleeding through the car's windows and into my skin. What I'm more worried about is how much I liked the burn. So now this fool is much too scared to try it again in fear of discovering the art of masochism.
No comments:
Post a Comment