You’ve probably figured by now that I’m a bit of a storyteller. For me, the recollection of events and glorious little moments in the past, is more pleasant than the actual experiencing. Why? Because you get to share the moment with other people! You know what they say: sharing a moment with someone is… magical! Be it just a brief lock of the eyes, a moment of sympathy, or just something that makes you both laugh — it’s these events we remember and retell the most.

Let’s go back 7 years.

After she left England for the second time, with no sign of returning, I had to admit to myself that this was going to be a long courtship. But the slowness of the dragged out foreplay was teasing, not infuriating. This was an epic kiss,  6 years in the making, stemming back to when I was just 16. I had to wait. I had to be patient. I had to wait through 2 false starts, a marriage to another man, and a 3 year communication blackout.

It’s odd, thinking about it now, but I always knew she was going to come back. I didn’t know when, how, or why, but I hardly batted an eyelid when she sent me an email. A brief, cursory email.

“I’m coming back to England. Want to meet up?”

‘Sure,’ I said, the email gratefully removing any proof of my shaking fingers.

I’ve been hot-air ballooning over lands that can only be described as moonscapes, watching the sun rise over the horizon. I’ve stood with my back to a mighty arch of the Colosseum as the sun set. I’ve sat atop the highest building in Belgrade and gazed out across the city, a full, blue moon glinting off the Sveti Sava.

I’ve seen and done a  lot of things, and I’m only young — God knows I’m going to do a hell of a lot more before I die — but it all pales in comparison to when I first kissed The American. It’s humbling, recalling the moment when our lips first touched. It was more emotionally intense than when I first stood at the top of the Grand Canyon and looked down. We’re talking about a chasm so large that you could fit a small country — like Ireland — in it. It was dwarfed by that kiss.

Looking back, the only moment that more readily brings tears to my eyes is when I drove a race-tuned Dodge Viper GTS around a serpentine, mountainous road in the Appalachians. They were both the source of the same kind of heady, euphoric feeling: that fantastic feeling that courses through your body when you’re doing something truly awesome. The Viper had me reeling from its acceleration; the girl had just to touch her lips against mine for the same effect.

I remember every single kiss. I can recall each and every one of them in an instant; I just shut my eyes, and she’s there. Those lips are there. The memories will never diminish.

* * *

Funny, this entry began as something completely different, and I wasn’t actually intending to write about it. I got to the end of the first paragraph, and the rest just flowed, almost automatically. The original subject was meant to be ‘A Goose Egg’. Why? I’ll tell you in my next entry.

And so there I was, in the Grand Bazaar...
That's a Goose Egg, Seb


I am a tall, hairy, British writer who blogs about technology, photography, travel, and whatever else catches my eye.