We kissed and it started a fire.

I had an image in my head. A conversation and a picture and it was clear. I had no words, though. I had a pen and a notebook, but no words. Until I thought of a kiss I shared with a girl once. No, more than once.

And then I had words.

I told the paper about the time when we kissed. Not the first time, though. Not the second or third either. My pen wrote about the time when that girl and I kissed in complete disregard for everyone but ourselves.

Suddenly I could write again. I had a story to tell. There was fear and romance. There was laughter and jealousy. There were secrets.

I told my paper about the time when I kissed a girl and it was exhilarating. The writing, that is. The kiss, too.

It was like a fire. The kiss, that is. The writing, too.

The first challenge since the last time it happened. Not the writing, just the kiss.

Before I jinx it, though, I have a story to tell you.

Just not here yet. Soon, though.

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This entry was posted in Adventure, CT, D.C., Passion, Past. Bookmark the permalink.

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