H2O

He once told me a story of Greek mythology. Aries, the god of War entwined in the embrace of Aphrodite, the god of Love. War and love, in bed together. The greater the strife, burned brighter the passion. Blazing and blistering like irate pink pustules that surge to the skin after scalding one’s palm.

I found the comparison apt. When we used to kiss, I’d feel the heat of my desire sear my lips into charred ashes. Fire cackling peals of laughter would scorch my being. Everything dry so dry unbearably dry. Choking on our thirst, to be quenched by the other's lips. Our kisses weren’t sweet. Our kisses were infuriated by desperation. The need to abate the flames that seethed within us.

But I kissed him today and all was quiet. Perhaps itd been so long, I’d forgotten how. Nothing, not even a shy ember. I still tremble at his touch, at the sight of his taut shoulders. But when I opened my mouth to taste the delectable cool relief, I found that

actually, 
I wasn't
thirsty. 
Why?