And You Were Amazing

"I'm writing this for our life, for myself and for your soul reading this over my slumped, widower shoulders. From when I first met your jasper eyes to when they locked shut in my arms, you were amazing. So I'll start that night, right when you fell to your death."

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9. Our First Kiss

There were so many winters back months before we even realised our harsh reality.  I remember the nights where we could sit on snow-covered walls, and my eyes would stray down your features, taking up each one of your flaws and perfections, and I’d being amazed that my life was so perfect.  

    You’d sniff and giggle.  We didn’t like the cold, but we loved the view.  There is nothing in this world better than empty parks in winter months.  

    Your eyes were like buttons on silk.  Ambers on chalk, or embers in snow.  I loved telling you jokes to watch your little round face fill with life.  Even in the still days where there was nothing to see but vast blankets of white, you looked so stunning with your pink nose and blue lips.  

    I was still nervous, somehow.  I would worry that I was too much for the dream that was you.  I’d flinch and give myself pep talks before even going to lock our glove fingers.  It’s funny to think back to the days where you weren’t more than a fantasy.  It was like if I touched you the dream would wear away and I’d end up back alone in my bed without you there to call and tell all the funny things my unconscious brain could spew out.  Sometimes you’d tell me your dreams to.  Fairy tales about knights and ships and bumblebees.  You were magic, that part’s true.

    But you would take my hand when you were passionately talking about who knows what.  I loved hearing your chattering words and watch you follow footsteps in the snow.  I wish I was as good at taking photographs as you were.  You’d make me pose by the wall and make snow angels and all that, but now I’m only left with multiple copies of the palm of my hand covering my face and the pictures you took of trees and paintings and shoes.  One of my greatest regrets is the fact I have so few photos of you now.

    “Tell me something great.” you’d say.

    “Like what?”

    “Anything.”

    I don’t remember what you wanted to hear, and what exactly I said.  All I remember is what I thought when I spoke.  Images of what I tried to describe for you.  You were a river, strong and fast and strangely beautiful.  You were birds with blue feathers, and stardust, and cobblestones.  You had honey calcite eyes and a blazing heart and spoke words the universe stopped to hear.  You were a power, and an energy, and a force.  You spoke in ribbons that wrapped life around in gifts that could raise any lost soul.  You were a conductor of light, and it was transparent in the way you laughed at the sky like everything was beneath you.  You had eyes like jasper crystals, and lips like a ballerina’s ribbon, and hair like golden silk.  You were a million poems in each drop of blood, and your life spun webs around the people who even tried go near you.  You would smile to them just once, and part of your beauty became apart of theirs.  No matter what, once someone saw your open heart they would spend the rest of their lives with the sun on their back and wind in their lungs, because you were more than great.  You were wonderful.  You were something that could change lives, only because you were a story in a body, and your story was one of love and kindness and something that could never truly change, because the strands connected people’s hearts to yours were infinite, and invincible.  You were something I had never seen before, and something I didn’t think I could live without, from the second I saw you.

    “You seem to think highly of me, huh?” you said, with your smile too big for your face, and the warmth of your breath tracing my lips.

    “I really like you.” was all I managed to say.

    “I really like you too.” you said, and you kissed me softly.  It was the first time we had ever kissed, and the small touch of warmth and kindness dented into my mind.  Somethings, for one reason or another, you can never forget those little things until the day you die.  Kisses in the snow are one of those things.

    “So where do you want to go now?” you asked me once we had pulled away.
    “Let’s go do something amazing.”

    You laughed, “Like what?”

    “Anything.”

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