Makes of me

These are fragments of my past,
Memories of when I was seven and she wouldn't hold my hand after class,
Memories of when I got my first kiss from a girl without a heart,
My lips turned hot, heart beating fast as if to ask for just one more,
Memories of my first conversation with her, I had a running nose,
I had forgotten my handkerchief and had to use the back of my hand,
First time she ever called, well, I had given her my mom's number,
She called from a club, at midnight while I froze in my bed in the village,
The first photo we took together, she said that we should hold hands,
I had a big smile on my face as things got hot in my pants,
The first time she wrote to tell me she felt me so, is a letter I still keep.