Free-writing #1

One day we won’t exist anymore, ashes, memories, faded photographs, illegible handwritten notes. Are we to be remembered? Will they recall faces pulled across the table, hand squeezes in tough times, brief kisses somehow unforgettable? Whether past loves were real loves, or pretend loves, practise loves, you’re now the one to make me fuzzy, dizzy, deep in love. Effortless. Fast-pace, hearts racing, heads spinning and lumps in throats. Tears that never spill but blur, blur the lines between you and I: one. Hope help me, have you any idea? Honey, I’m home. Home? Here, you, me, us. Remember me, on brisk days with biting frost, warmth in winter. You are summer, sweltering, human radiator for coolest nights with thin sheets, open windows, singing with sunrise. Of all of them, I hope it’s you.

I had a bit of fun with free-writing as I look back on the past three and a half years getting to know and falling in love with my bestest friend, my soulmate, my companion. It’s soppy as hell, but it wouldn’t be real if it wasn’t.

Of all of them, I hope it’s you.

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