I can't remember it well, but it was there.

The smell of a burned out cigarrette butt, the touch of soft, warm lips, and the taste of a man who undoubtably had spent his whole life analyzing food with his tongue.

My fingers traced my lips, trying to re-enact the excitement.

Electricity running through your body like a rod.

Exhilerating thrill willing your heart to break out of your chest.

Your mind unable to wheeze back life again.

…

Nothing.

Nothing would ever come out of self stimulation.

Nothing.

Just thoughts of how stupid and lovesick I appeared ended the nostalgia session.

Never have I thought of asking for another kiss.

Never will I ever ask for another kiss.

I told myself.

It didn't matter in the end.

…

The gentlemen. Hah.

Rather, he was the one who asked for another kiss.