This Kiss

The first time I lost all memory of Tucker, we had just met.

We were in the disco room of the epilepsy ward, both of our heads covered in electrodes. The music thumped, and lights danced across his face. We were the only ones there, other than the nurses.
I was reluctant to meet him. My seizures were worse than most, because they erased my memory. So even if I got the nerve to talk to him, I would eventually forget he exists.
But Tucker didn’t know that. He approached with “Come here often?”
My recent bout of amnesia meant I didn’t know that was a terrible pickup line, although maybe it was a little funny, given the circumstances.
But that was all we got. The disco lights switched to strobes, the kind designed to cause a seizure. That’s why we were there. For the wires on our heads to collect data. To show the doctors what was going on inside our brains.
I took one more look at him as my legs gave way, and the sizzle in my head turned my vision black.
Tucker.
I had no idea then that I had just met the love of my life.
In a few seconds, I wouldn’t remember him at all.