The last one

I’d like to think I remember every single time you kissed me. That I can call to memory the way you always smelled, the softness of your lips, the movements of your hands.

But I can’t because there were too many. The memory of them would fill my whole mind and spill over.

There’s not enough room in my head for your kisses.

I remember the places you kissed me, though. Outside, in the rain. Inside, beneath the sheets. In the light of day, under the cover of night.

I remember the last one that felt real.

Though, it wasn’t the last one.

I don’t remember that one at all.

See, that’s the thing about kissing. It can mean nothing or it can mean everything. And sometimes, it can mean nothing and everything in the same breath.

I wish I could say they meant nothing to me.

Because I think they might not have meant everything to you.

Written 1/7/17

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