Monday, 6 July 2009
Remind me of this when I am screaming his name between expletives in the delivery suite
My best kiss ever was our first kiss. I’m sure there were other best kisses before that warm April night in Paris, but they are now eclipsed, stricken from memory by our first kiss.
He was a scrawny good-natured Frenchman without pretension who made me feel awkward and comfortable at the same time. A boy whom I never considered as a romantic companion until that fateful night at Place Monge when he walked me to the Metro station and knocked the wind out of me with a kiss that was confident and passionate and utterly unexpected.
And nearly 7 years on from that first kiss, I could travel the world and back again and not find a man that makes my heart warm as much. I could not find a man who loves me so selflessly. I could not find a man who will make a better Father to my child.
My best kiss ever was our first kiss. Only to be surpassed by our last.