How Old Is Sandra Model

The first times are not forgotten. Whether good or bad. Since that first stolen kiss in a playground. Awkward and wet. As the first drunk who gives us a migraine next day to watch the bottom of the toilet vowing that we do not resume. Until next time. The first appointment with the dentist to hold on to arms, vowing that henceforth you wash your teeth 250 times a day if necessary. The first hug. As expected, so intense and ... short. The first car and the smell so delicious that emerges. And his first stripe accompanied our first urge to murder. The first degree and feel that we own the world. And the last degree and wondering what is going to be able to fuck with everything. The first cigarette. And the first regret. The first heartache that leaves you alone in the world with the bitter taste that nothing will ever be as before (and so much the better eventually). The first job and we are taking to the oil king. The first dismissal, the king has the right to abdicate after all. The first child.
At any age, we saw the first time. For some it would forget them and fingers crossed there is no second. And there are the first time we would like to live and relive hundreds of times. Have a magical remote control. To go back, go slow. Enjoy. Make a fleeting moment, an eternal moment. Last night, sleeping daughter, I went back Gently his quilt on it, I lined and I kissed him on the forehead. As always. She took me in her arms as she could. Its tiny members trying to reach around a gigantic bear daddy. She said "I love you." Slowly. For the first time. The first few times are not forgotten. Especially not these.