I cried and you cried and I told you. That I wanted to be the one for you. Then we made love, not had sex, but made love, on a dirty mattress in that wretched flat in Amsterdam.
You cry sometimes because I leave you. I cry sometimes because you cry because I leave you. Your long, beautiful, curly, brown eyelashes filled with dewdrops and pooling in your iris.
I ask you why you love me. You ask me why I love you. Neither of us have an answer, but we always say, if there weren’t something we couldn’t put into words, we wouldn’t be on our 907th day together.
Sometimes I wonder, and maybe you wonder, that we found each other out of a necessity to love and to feel loved and maybe it didn’t matter who it was, it’s just that we were at the right place at the right time.
That we were convenient for each other.
That we didn’t want to risk our friendships by asking our friends out instead.
That it was all happenstance.
That one day I will wake up and you will wake up and we will see that our lives have drifted apart by but a centimeter, and it was all that we needed to disappear from each others’ lives, just the way we appeared into them like a genie in a bottle.
You tell me you will always remember me, no matter what happens, that I will be a sweet memory you sometimes look back on and shed a tear, then carry on with whatever it was you were doing.
You remember words I have said, you know my body memory, you know the stories I have told in passing, long after I’ve forgotten them.
And this, is why I love you.