I fell in love on the third kiss, the first snow, the last slow dance.
Ask me what day we met and I can only smile and shake my head.
It could have been a Tuesday or the death anniversary of a beloved monarch and I wouldn’t have a clue.
Our love story comes to me in waves, in movie stills and long summer afternoons spent under a sky of incessant blue.
I still think of your eyes in flashes of color, your hands in a frenetic, feverish blur—your smile a mosaic of light and shadow.
I still find myself lost in those moments of abstraction.
