relationships / romance / short

Scrapbook

It is when I am alone that my mind grows legs, wandering down hidden recesses, seeking out what is nested inside the hidden corners of my brain. I pull out the scrapbook stored inside my memory vault and thumb through the snapshots of memories created.

The most vivid ones are of you. Your fingertips as they glide gently over my cheek, your eyes as they twinkle when you laugh. The sensation of electricity that surges through my toes every time your lips meet mine.

I spent so much of my life in a sound sleep, going through motions yet unaware. A life dedicated to routine and sameness, every hour ticking by till another day of sameness was done. One day, out of the blue, I woke up, and have spent every moment since determined to never again fall back into that slumber that kept me chained from life.

Without warning, without a plan, you where suddenly there, unexpected, yet welcome all the same. “Moments not things” is a promise you made and one you have certainly kept. An album once blank, is now overflowing and full, filled with the moments we’ve shared.

The tender kisses stolen in the dead of night when our bodies respond to each other like magnets drawing each other in close. The laughter that causes my eyes to tear and my belly to ache. The peace of sitting side-by-side on the sofa, no words needed as we read our favorite prose, our knees gently touching, speaking through the comfortable silence. The sense of calm I feel inside your warm and strong arms when I’ve had a bad day and my tears soak your shirt.

I put my music on and open my windows allowing the breeze to flow inside and touch me with its gentle presence. I lean back on the sofa and inhale the smell of rain that is forming in the clouds. Closing my eyes once more, I allow my mind to continue its exploration. There are many blank pages left in this scrapbook of mine, and I know, instinctively, that there is no one else I want to fill them with than you.

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