Memories

Remember when we lay together on the riverside at that terrible New Year’s Eve festival? Things were different then. We didn’t know each other like the feel of your own bed or the taste of Mum’s mashed potatoes. Everything was new, each moment buzzing with nerves and excitement, and all we wanted was to come closer and closer until we saw the world through each other’s eyes.

Coming closer was a leap of faith, and I dared to reach for it in the back of the cinema after using the horror movie as another excuse to touch, to hold. I saw the sliver of blue in your shadowed eyes, the curve of Cupid’s bow in your lips, and I wanted nothing more than to come closer. Drawn in by the thrill of every exquisite detail, I kissed you for the very first time and wanted to live in that moment forever.

I remember walking in the forest with you, coming to a stop, kissing you for the 6000^th time. You told me you loved me, and I choked on my words. I told you I wasn’t sure. I thought I might. But I couldn’t say it. I cried and cried that night, hoping I hadn’t broken what we had.

We were lying in the dark in a single bed when I told you I loved you, and I knew it with every ounce of my being. Love filled me up, I couldn’t say it enough. I loved your ideas, your passion, your kindness, you quiet strength, your laughter, your beautiful eyes and the things you said with them. I loved our quiet moments and our big adventures. I loved seeing you, hearing you, feeling you beside me. I had no idea how big that love would grow.

When you told me you dreamed of marriage, children, a house, I cried alone in my bed every night. I told you I dreamed of travel, career, my brand of adventure. I felt like turning myself inside out from the pain. You held me. You told me we’d be okay. And we are.

I remember dinner with you on our last night in Forster. I can still taste the rich fusion of cream, garlic, mushrooms, parmesan and wine in our perfect risotto. I can still feel the coolness of the sand as we sat together on the beach and watched the moon. I remember turning your head to kiss you and thinking nothing could be better.

I remember building our home together, me obsessing over this or that print or this or that bowl and you loving it all. I remember cooking together and somehow still ending up with a cake after eating 90% of the batter. I remember dying with laughter at 3am over jokes unintelligible to any outsider. I remember victory dancing in our living room after winning a game of Soul Calibur and waltzing with you in our kitchen to songs I made up in French. I remember reading to you in our bed, a new story for you, and old favourite for me. I remember cherishing your oohs and aahs and lighting up with joy when your eyes widened in surprise at the plot.

I live in an unending series of perfect moments when I look at you and see everything I could possibly want. Every memory is a treasure to me, but also a home, and another piece of the perfect little refuge we found in each other.