I couldn’t get our first kiss out of my mind today.
It’s funny because I remember being excited that you were coming over. And I remember you getting to my apartment. And somehow, we ended up snuggling on the couch. I don’t remember any of the middle part. Did we eat? I almost sure we must have. Did we talk? Obviously we did, but even if my life depended on it, I wouldn’t be able to tell you what about.
What’s always clear as a bell is that we ended up horizontal on the couch. Easy-peasy. Just like that. Like we had grown up together with a mutual understanding of each other’s bodies and our need to be close. I remember being really calm and really happy that we had finally found the opportunity to “just be” together.
Sure. There was that slight anxiety, or maybe I should say anticipation, that permeates the air just before a first kiss, but I didn’t mind it so much. It didn’t seem relevant. It was much more important to me that I felt comfortable, that I felt like I was in the right place at the right time – and with the right person.
And then, you started tracing my face with your thumb. It was so soft, and you were so gentle. You rubbed through the peaks and valleys that my smile created, highlighting the ridge of my cheek.
I admit: it was a brilliant sort of torture.
And then we kissed.
And it felt like home. It felt like kicking off my shoes after a long day at work. It tasted like my favorite meal, and sounded like my favorite song.
Is that too trivial?
I hope you don’t take it that way. Because what I am trying to say is that our first kiss was the kind the poets write about when they’re sonneting of passion and romance. It was the kind I had always dreamed of having. The stuff of legends.
I’ve had great first kisses – and really awkward ones too. Ones that, once started, lasted the whole evening; and others that felt forced, like two neighbor kids using each other to see what all the fuss is about.
When our first kiss was over, I knew immediately that I wanted another one. And I understood what it meant to accept that I may never have another first kiss again.
We’ve shared a lot of kisses since then and a lot of happy times, but as most relationships, we’ve also shared lots of challenging times, confusing moments and disconnection.
On a cold day like this – and even colder night – when all I have is your silence, I remember that I also have this memory. And as it shines its heat on me, I smile.