• Sophia Menesini

The Seventh Burns Brightest

I've decided to start posting pieces of Poetry and Short Stories from my past that I love. I hope you enjoy...

The Seventh Burns Brightest

My First Kiss - hidden behind a tree, the twinkling sunlight shining through, landing, warmly across my four year old shoulders. The smell of maple, of the center tree of Creekside Montessori, embeds itself in my mind. I’m giggling even as I’m benched for touching his soft lips.

My Second Kiss - heated by the stage lights under the guise of different names and different characters. The taste of his makeup off his cheek tastes of wax it turns my stomach and the powder wafting from his skin making my nose crinkle. His character much darker than I could have imagined trapping within myself, Juliet doesn’t want this Romeo.

My Third Kiss - the darkness suffocates. Her smile is harmless but her intentions anything but innocent. Her touch burns scars into my skin and my tears abuse my eyes from the salt of betrayal. Her laughter makes my fists clench, my breath tighten, a whimper falling from my mouth. She stole it.

My Fourth Kiss - tastes of ash on my tongue. He’s sweet, and he promises he loves me. But her scars haven’t healed, and I itch to escape my skin. I can’t be what he wants, she’s stolen my fire and I am drowned with no flame.

My Fifth Kiss - rushed by the ticking clock. He’s no more than a distraction from the journey I’ll take. We’re caught at a fork in the road but the winds of Barcelona call me away. My embers are growing stronger, the scars left fading to memories of weakness that will never strike me again.

My Sixth Kiss - I think I love him. I’m healed. I can be what he wants. I’ll destroy the independence of myself to help him rise. He needs support and I can be the foundation. But can I really give myself away after I’ve just found her again. My pyre has dwindled like a campfire in the early morning. I’m gone faster than wildfire.

My Seventh Kiss - takes me by surprise. I’ve promised to keep my heart behind the walls, but he’s blown his horn and now I crumble harder than that of Jericho. He traces the scars like tattoos in my mind igniting, cauterizing the last of the open wounds. He fuels my open flame encouraging me to grow and dream. He is my partner; I burn brighter than I ever have before because My First Love is my seventh kiss.

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