I'll remember our nights

It’s 12 a.m on a Friday night and you are sitting next to me on the couch. I finally got the much needed tranquility I was thirsty for this whole week. On days like this, all I need is for you to speak to me softly and run your fingers through my hair. You have such a lovely effect on me. We gaze out of my window at the night sky and every memory we’ve ever shared flashes before my eyes.

I always see the day when we met. Even from afar. A day of November baptised in rain. For some reason I keep replaying this image in my head. Walking home through the wide streets, gleaming wet, but I still recall our arms locked as tightly as possible, our warm flesh touching, burning with love’s incurable pain. Our very first connection. And baby, was I hooked.

And now I fast forward to the current times for a second. I consider myself so lucky to have the privilege to keep making more memories and building new stories with you. To have the ability to still feel the same as that first rainy afternoon each time you hold my hand. To know that I can recall thousands of moments lived through this random, yet life-changing love story.

You know, you met me at a very strange time in my life. And I have to admit, the one thing I was most afraid of was the night time, for I was the loneliest I had ever been then. Who would have thought that now I’d joyfully wait for the night to come just so I could take a glimpse of your dark- green eyes in the moonlight?

I always needed someone who knew the struggle as well as iI did. Who would hold my feet in their lap on days I would not be able to stand. That one person that would know exactly what I need, before I even need it. The one who would recognise the pain in my voice before I ever bursted a single word out of my almost- always sealed mouth.

You may not have been my first love, but you were the one that made every other love seem completely irrelevant. And all these memories I keep will always be with me, even if you’re not. I’m dying in the simple thought of losing you. What if I became afraid once more?

I know, I know. I’m only afraid of letting you go. And all these pretty little things you say make all the sense in the world, but still, I can’t bear the thought of you being the best thing I once had.

I stare at the sky a bit longer. I’m not ready to return to my bedroom. A blue light reaches your skin, just like the first time you spent the night in my place. When, lethargically, in your sleep, you mumbled my name and three of my favourite words. “I am here”. You almost stuttered. And then I couldn’t resist the urge of spending the rest of the night looking through you as you continued sleeping like a baby. And all I could think about is that I’d never let anyone do you wrong.

And even when you made me erupt out of anger, acting all jealous for an old friend, I would still want you. It’s your fault, after all. You’ve been too good to me and maybe I’m still not used to it. The feeling never comes to an end. I thought you knew me, but it would be shame to say that you simply know me. Because you see through me.

And I’m trying to put into words every little thing you’ve ever made me feel and I still can’t. And all that comes to my mind right now is that poem I had inscribed to you the first month of our love. Bukowski. My favourite piece of his.

So, even if years go by and we’re in separate places in our lives, all I can hope is that you’ll still drink your coffee black so it can resemble my dark brown eyes, and maybe, just maybe, his words cross your mind once in a while;

“I will remember the kisses our lips, raw with love, and how you gave me everything you had and how I offered you what was left of me. I will remember your small room the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together sleeping, the tiny flowing currents immediate and forever, your leg, my leg, your arm, my arm, your smile and the warmth of you that made me laugh again.”

Baby, our love may not be one that will last forever, because time is fragile and our geometries may not be able to correlate after a while. But it sure is one for the ages.

Let’s go back inside. I want to see the blue fade out of your face as I drag you back to bed. I don’t care about the stars anymore, because I am looking at you.

Thank you for this night. For you, no matter what, for you there’s only love.