There is so much that I remember about you. About us.

The creases of your palms. The language of your sighs. The coldness of your toes on my shin. Kisses that we revised, haphazardly, hesitantly at first, then with confidence and certainty. The imprint of elastic on your skin when we undressed. Eventually my fingers learned where to find the dimples on your thighs, and how to coax goosebumps from your skin.

The full weight of our taut and lithe bodies pressed together,
arms braced against departure or disconnection.
Intoxicated by each others' breath. The beads of sweat on our foreheads, at times. The cool relief when the breeze reached our bodies when we were finally still.

There were times you wept and turned over, leaving only the soft skin of your back for my searching fingertips. But by morning, your eyelashes were back against my cheek. Your body warm and inviting once more. Forgiving me for some discomfort left unvoiced, unspoken.

Inexperienced in both love and hate, we pushed on, seasons, years, lifetimes passing by, it seemed.

Cold winds blowing your hair against my face as I sought the warmth beneath your breast.
The taste of summer raindrops on your lip and cheek as I kissed you.
The smell of fallen leaves that still makes me turn my head to look for you some autumn mornings.
Evening darkness so deep we couldn't see our own faces anymore as we walked on, leaving nothing behind but footsteps in the snow.

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