Okay, it’s a little weird (and sad, to be honest) to be reminiscing about kisses at this time (12:45 AM), but I’ve been going over my ‘642 Tiny Things To Write About’ activity (??) book and came across a topic about kisses. And so I took a quick trip down memory lane and edited what I wrote last year. Expect that I will be posting more from the book soon!


What makes a first kiss special is the innocence, and not knowing what to expect aside from the ideas we have from fairy tales and movies. There are no kisses to compare it to, and sometimes, I wish all kisses were like this. It would have made the world a much easier world for my heart.

I had great expectations for my first kiss. I imagined fireworks and butterflies in my stomach, all the grandeur and cliche that comes with it. It was supposed to be a beginning of another chapter in a love story,  a spark of  wildfire, all consuming.  But mine, ruined everything.

I don’t know if it was the place (in a bowling alley, right in front of the window where people pass by), or that we were surrounded by friends, or maybe it was the timing. Perhaps, I was surprised at the sudden gesture. All of a sudden, the boy who I thought was the one (I was only 15 then), became a thief. Someone who robbed me of something special, something I could never take back. And I disliked him for that.

You can guess what happened days after that.


After the first kiss,  who you do it with matters more or else, all kisses will just feel the same. But the thing is, you  don’t always know which kisses are the best (and unforgettable), until you lose them completely. Until you are left craving for more, just craving and out of reach.

Just like half of the the kisses had, the last one was driven by alcohol, loneliness and wishing he was someone else. Fingers tangled on hair, hand resting in between the warmth of your legs, and mouths devouring.  It was sweet poison, really, with a hint of bitterness and guilt. To be in a moment, but be completely lost in another memory. In another person, a ghost of the past, you will always look for in everyone else. But his hands were not the same, his mouth was different. In the dark, I could imagine a difference face, try to breathe in a memory, and yet the feeling will never be the same.  He will never be that person. Now this is the second worst kind of kiss. The kind that leaves your heart hollow, hungry and lonelier after.


I would be lying if I say I no longer hope to taste his mouth again. But if it isn’t him, I hope it will  free me from the shakles of the past. I hope it’s the kind of kiss that will light up lanterns down my crooked spine and sew back stars in my soul. The kind that will make me forget about the boy I couldn’t let go of for so long and welcome back love in my life again. It doesn’t even matter where it will be, or if we’ll be surrounded by friends or strangers, as long as the person is right this time.


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