I remember coming to your kitchen in the summer. Laughing, we’d haul our harvest of lemons onto the counter. You’d add too much sugar into your lemonade, so much that it tasted like sugar water flavored with lemon instead of the other way round.
I remember the fluorescent lights, the neon hues casting their gaudy luminescence on your body. The beat was pounding, and your eyes glazed. I told you to stop, that it was enough. But you didn’t listen, just like with the sugar.
I remember the rain pouring down, drenching everything with a silver shimmer of water. I was the one to write your epitaph. Set in stone, I wrote, ‘She was born with a gift for sweetness.’
It’s raining again today. I move my umbrella to the side, and let the drops patter endlessly on me, around me. Some of it finds its way into my mouth. It tastes of lemonade.
I want to know you as you are, to the deepest recesses of your soul. You don’t have to mold yourself a certain way to please me. Love is a process, and we’ll learn together. I want to know your quirks, and hear your whispered ‘goodnight’ in the peace of a darkened room. Hear a symphony with me, and hear the stories told across the distances.
I want to ruffle your hair during a conversation, wink with a shared secret when we pass by each other. I want to peck you on the cheek with your friends watching, and glance back to see you with your hand on your cheek, holding my kiss with stars in your eyes.
I don’t need to see the flashiest shops and the latest movies. I want the thought, the sentiment. Bring me to a quiet picnic spot by a rushing waterfall, give me a flower to tuck behind my ear. Smile when I sing on a whim, and dance along spontaneously with me. When we jump off a cliff, I want to feel your hand in mine, fingers intertwined.
The Bank Account
The day we met, I opened a relationship bank account with you. It wasn’t intentional, just so you know, but a matter of instinct. I met your clear, emerald gaze, and with a smile, entered my first deposit.
When I crashed into you turning the corner, you apologized and said it was your fault. We both knew that it was me who hadn’t been paying attention, but you could see my cheeks flaming and said it out of kindness. That was my second deposit.
We had many transactions, you and I. Uncountable deposits, numerous withdrawals. Over time, the deposits seemed to evaporate, and the withdrawals turned to stone. Ten dollars seemed like five. I even had an overdraft with you, but you smiled and bequeathed me a windfall.
Now, I hardly see you. I turn corners unencumbered. But my account remains full. Not a dollar lost, patiently waiting, slowly growing.
Sparkly and sweet, Samantha is a budding writer looking for magic in the world.