favorite memories

The first morning we spent together,

he was playing guitar

as we sat in bed surrounded by snow.

The first date,

when I wore my “eat pussy not animals” t-shirt

to cut right through the bullshit

and when I stole crayons on may way back

to the table after a visit to the restroom.

The third date, when I had butterflies

in my stomach

and when it took me over an hour

to pick out the perfect outfit.

That first kiss. When I sat beside him in bed,

book in hands, naked under my bathrobe,

still so innocent as to his intentions.

I wanted to be warm and comfortable. And he always made me feel it was safe for me to be that way.

Then there was the time when he helped me move in,

and we christened the place with what else but tequila.

Our first fight.

When I was still so afraid to have him see me break.

When I opened the door to the end and then shut it almost immediately.

The night when we did drugs and became

a couple, officially.

I guess maybe that one should’ve been a sign.

There was this one night, one of the first we spent

together in my new apartment,

when we drank too much

and were up way too early the next day

and we laid down and meditated and then

took in a sunrise afterwards.

I could hear the humming of the refrigerator

and feel the warmth of his hands enveloping mine

and honestly I would’ve died happy if I had gone at that time.

That day felt like all of love

was giving just me

a hug.

The first time I saw him cry.

You have to be comfortable with tears

to date someone like me.

The day we drank our way through all of Denver

and got kicked out of a restaurant

for being “inappropriate.”

The first moment we both discovered

we were just two big kids

in adult bodies.

I can’t remember exactly when that happened.

Maybe it was something our souls recognized in each other.

That first month

when we were completely sober

and I fell in love with him

for exactly who he was.

There were never any masks,

I loved our love partly because of that.

Because I could say crazy things

and be outrageous

and he would always meet me halfway.

Throughout our time together

he really learned who I was

and loved me just the same-

perhaps that really is worth

all the heartache

of the end.

Categories Creative Writing, Poetry, ProseTags , , ,

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