Do you remember?

Do you remember that time that we crept outside while the others laughed and shouted inside? It was a summer night and I had lost my shoes somewhere between lunch and all of the warm beers and you laughed as you covered both of us with an old blanket as we lie on our backs in the grass and looked up at the stars. It became cold and so you moved closer, our hands touching which was more than we had done yet and when you interlaced your fingers in mine I felt weightless and didn’t want to ever leave that place.

We drank wine out of juice glasses later and over the shimmering heat of the fire I caught your gaze and in your eyes were a thousand mystical things that would become familiar over time. But then I was only aware of my knees having turned to clay and tugged nervously at my hair, twirling the strands around and around with my fingers. You left our circle of friends and I followed you into the shadows where you whispered into my neck that I was all you had ever wanted and I believed you, having felt the same for longer than I cared to admit.

What I remember was how that summer became about not looking at clocks. We would fall asleep on the hot sand with my leg thrown over yours and wake up flushed with sunburn. We took cold showers in the afternoons to cool ourselves and sat on the porch swing in the dark after the sun had burnt out. You told me that you thought I was beautiful and lovely and full of secrets - all of which you wanted to know. There were no lines on our faces from worry and my greatest task was making you smile when you slipped into melancholy. I would ask why and you said sometimes you were fraught with sadness over the thought of this time being no more. Impossible, I would say. We will live here forever. I knew it was a lie but perhaps not, as you tell me it’s still your favorite place to visit when you close your eyes.