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The kiss.

Exchanging breaths. Sharing pieces of your soul. Electrifying every pore of your body. Where the deep-seeded magic of a relationship burrows.

Some believe sex is the end-all, be-all in a relationship. But I beg to differ.

There’s a stark beauty in a kiss.

A spark as someone lingers over your lips. Hovering. Breathing on your skin as you inhale their cologne. You connect. Collide. Softly. Hungrily. You peek at them for a millisecond. Upping the intensity. When the kiss draws to a close, you press your foreheads together. Both quietly laughing. Illuminated by the moonlight streaming into the car.
But, beware of the danger. Whether it’s your awkward first or a spectacular “leave you breathless” kiss.

A first kiss prepares you for heartbreak. Devastation. Destruction. Love’s form of Armageddon. That first person who breathes intermittent life into you will break you. Crush you. Damn well try to kill you. Or you’ll be cruel and crush them.

Unless you’re a rare lucky one who remains with their first kiss.

But, back in the real world, most first kissers part. However, they’ll stay on your lips, and you’ll compare each kiss to that first.

Sifting through the cold, hot, soggy, soothing and sweet. But with each kiss, your heart cracks. Little by little. And you decide to seal your lips.
Until that night under the moonlight. With a sky so full of stars, you can still smell them if you close your eyes.

Pure perfection. A kiss not anticipated for four years in junior high diaries. No plot or script. Spontaneous.

And you realize what you experienced at 15 years old at a friend’s 16th birthday party can’t hold a candle to that starlit night as a 17-year-old.

But that beautiful hindsight moment wrecks you more than the first kiss.

Because under the moonlight, you felt his soul whisper, “Don’t let this end,” while yours remained silent.

Like I said, there’s danger in a kiss.