By Gee, where do I begin? The day I saw you for the first time? Or the day I saw you for the last time? I don’t know. With you, it was like I’m seeing you for the first time every day.
Do you ever wonder, how exciting it was, how inciting the feelings were? Love is some real crazy shit man, it makes you go crazy, makes you feel like a child again and felt like a child, I sure did.
The buzz of her touches, the going-crazy heart, the calming effect of her presence, it had it all, every day, and the next day. The times we spent, the conversations we made, the arguments we had, I still remember them, even more than I wish to admit.
The little daring adventures of me trying to hold her hand at her front gate before she got in or putting my arms around her shoulders on the busy marketplace, or even we making eye contact inside of classroom giving each other the smile, the smile which wouldn’t matter much to anyone looking but meant the world to us.
When I think about it now, it was her who made me realize the importance of little things in life, the tiny little things that made her burst out laughing, the tiny little things that made her angry, those tiny little things made me love her even more than I used to the previous second.
I still remember that one argument we had, my arms were roped around her waist, my head resting on her lap, and me apologizing to her with a very quavering voice. Actually I wasn’t even close to crying you see, I was just pretending to cry only to get my sorry ass out of trouble.
But I damn well wish I had cried that day, cried my heart out just so she could come in and see it wasn’t all that bad inside after all.
You know, sometimes I see her name on a sign somewhere, or hear something that only she could’ve said, or remember a silly thing we did and smile, just smile. It’s not like I see her name, it reaches my brain, my brain visits it’s archived and accesses folders bearing her name and finds out the reason for me to smile, no no, it just does it.
It resets again to the day I first saw her and starts playing from the beginning. Again. Why? Because it’s her. Goddamn it, it’s always been her.
But nowadays, remembering her scares me. It makes me wonder how long do I have left of her memories? How long before the never stopping time takes her away from me, forces me to move on even though I clearly don’t want to.
I’m scared of waking up one morning and not thinking about her all day, and realizing that I’ve forgotten, I’ve moved on. Is it really that bad to not want to move on?
