Remember that night you almost died? When we kissed for the second time, and this time it wasn't a secret. And we got interrupted, and you got on that bike and told me I could ride next. So I sat on that curb we were kissing on moments before, and I watched you speed around the block a little too fast and never come back.
Months go by and I see you again. I compliment your scar across the right half of your beautiful head. And you tell me that we could never share another kiss, because I'm obviously bad luck. And maybe you're right.
It's been 3 and a half years, and I still think about that night every time I kiss someone new. It can be hard to focus on a kiss while you're simultaneously praying to God that they make it home alive.
My mom hasn't received a kiss from me in years now, and I don't think she ever will again. It's not that I'm a superstitious person, but I'd much rather be safe than sorry.