Be We, Who We Are

im sitting here with his cosy long-sleeved t-shirt on me, on top of the spaghetti strap i wear for my pjs. downstairs i was curled up in the den, soft amber light and potted plants, writing in my diary. i was watching a black and white movie, living in a big way (1947), so full of the joys of such films, tapdancing and singing and good-old fashioned straight-talking and manners, and boys who want to be men. the freckled red orchids were in their vases, smiling, i swear, and the contained air of the airconditioner so cool on the glass. my turquoise earring has been changed, but generally i look at my reflection in the glass of the windowed sliding doors and remember our faces in the mirror, him holding me tight to his side, my face small. same thing, cosy in his sweater t-shirt, hair in a mess he made, turquoise earrings dangling.

and i will always remember this, of being so close to him, i lie down and shut my eyes, and him asking me if i was tired, no, but can i take all the loveliness in front of me? and i will remember his hand caressing my hair; his poems coming alive in the moment; the delicious warmth of his body; his skin, crème brûlée; and the moon-hued darkness of the room. and i will remember this, the images we planted in our heads, of crimson sweaters and autumn leaves and laughing on cobblestoned paths for a lunch of beer and pizza. we will be who we are.