But at the end of the day, I don't really remember the dinner. I can hardly remember what the movie was about. I don't think about the new dress before I fall asleep.
When I close my eyes, I'll tell you what I can remember in vivid detail:
I can remember making love to you. I remember the soft smile on your lips. I remember kissing the sweat from your forehead. I remember the cool breeze drifting through the window. I remember you reminiscing about warm summer nights, when you would lay on your back and watch the stars, gazing out into the night sky. I remember how you sat on the edge of your bed smoking a cigarette and how I laid naked beside you, never a moment ashamed. I remember how our skin stuck together slightly where it touched. I remember the warm arm you wrapped around me and our legs, intertwined. I remember the way your skin glowed, all soft blues and purples and shadows in the moonlight. I remember the whispered I love yous. The sound of your breathing and your heartbeat. The love so strong inside of me that I could barely breathe. As if it would burst out of my skin because it was so impossible to contain. The thoughts of love racing through my mind, and the way your breath would hitch when a particularly soul-baring thought entered my head, as if you knew what I was thinking. As if you were thinking similar thoughts. As if we were both astonished at what we heard in each other's hearts. As if we both just knew we could hear it, knew we were really hearing it, and it wasn't just in our heads.
I don't really remember much of the dinner and the gifts.
But that, I can remember in such detail.
It didn't cost you a dime.
Remember that.
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