October 13, 2006 — age seventeen
(part of a look at the past)
forever. it’s not that unpleasant, is it? maybe so, maybe. oh honey, i love your curls. and we can’t forget that smile.
i want to touch your hands. i’ve realized something: i’ve always had a fascination with your hands. long, skinny fingers. musician’s fingers, yes. beautiful. though, i’ve never touched them. have i? no, i believe i would’ve remembered those hands.
and your face. with your beautifully scarred nose and constantly-changing eyes. oh, those eyes. i can’t help but get lost in them.
remember the first time i hugged you. your graduation. i felt something. i cried that night, wanting more. since that moment, nearly two years ago, i have hugged you less than twenty times, i’m sure. each time, i never wanted to let go because i felt safe. safe, love. warmth.
and remember that time in the car. the night before your nineteenth birthday, when she and i took you to dinner at that italian place. you chose italian because you know how it’s my favorite. and we shared smiles and jokes and laughs all night long, feeling as if we were the only two in the world. and on the way home, you sitting in the backseat behind me, while she drove. i photographed your face, your smile. you leaned against the seat, quiet. we were both quiet. i could feel it. you told me the next day that you could, too. before, i knew i loved you, but that’s when i knew.
and a few weeks ago when i laid on your bed, facing the television, but not paying any attention to that at all. you were laying behind me, and you twirled my hair around your fingers. i wanted to stay in that moment forever.
to hear your voice on the other end of the telephone. i can hear your smile.
i love you.
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