kiss day
It’s me, your first kiss! Do you remember?
© Oleksandr / Adobe Stock
Why do so few people want to talk about their first kiss? A tour of discovery.
sorry, do you remember me?I ask the people hurrying through the shopping street. It’s me, your first Kiss. We know each other from back then, remember?
“Oh dear,” says the tall lady with the piled up bows in her hair. “I’m already so old, 80!” She laughs into the jewelry store window and I realize she recognizes me. She takes a few uncomfortable steps, turns around again and pats my arm apologetically. “Talk to someone else about it.” She clicks off in high heels and leaves me behind.
“I can’t even remember…”
Just like everyone eventually leaves me behind, lost between the pages of their life story. For some I’m carefully glued, like a pressed autumn leaf. From time to time they look at what’s left of me. Not worth talking about. For others, the page remains blank.
His red face glows even deeper when I ask the man about our encounter. “I can’t really remember anymore…” He laughs sheepishly. His goatee is still as dark as ever. He must be around forty now. It’s quiet in his curtain shop. No one got lost among the shawls and lace, but he quickly says he doesn’t have the time right now.
And what about her? I recognize her, even under her blue uniform and traffic warden’s hat. In this woman, who sneaks around the cars with a stern face, I see the happy girl’s face. Hello, it’s me, your first kiss! You know what? She shakes her head, “It’s probably been way too long.”
“Because it wasn’t very good”
I stand helplessly on the street and feel like a discarded piece of jewellery. Worn once and immediately banished to a box to collect dust. Why are they just leaving me out of the series of their stories?
The man over there in the bar answers. He is sitting alone on a stool with half a liter of beer in front of him. He looks to the side, then into the glass. “Because it wasn’t very good.”
How romantic. Do you remember?
And finally she comes. The one who doesn’t blame me for being direct and not very empathetic at times. Leaning on her walker, she shuffles down the narrow street. She is 86 now. It’s been 66 years since we met. “Of course I remember,” she says, smiling. “It was on the Autobahn, on the way from Augsburg to Manching.” At the rest stop, in the middle of the car, you were suddenly there. Yes, exactly, I say relieved. And the man from back then? “Nothing came of it. But I’m still friends with him today.”
How romantic, I say.
And turn to you Do you remember me?
Editor’s note: This text is based on a survey in a pedestrian zone. These are real quotes and descriptions.