In case you didn't already know

You sat on my window sill, laughing in that way that you did, with all of your teeth showing and I didn't have to kiss you to know that your lips tasted like cigarettes. You always made me laugh so much, looking at the pictures taped above my sorry excuse for a bed still make me smile. You used to lie under the covers, kicking them up while I made us both tea at 4 AM because you couldn't sleep (not that I minded your insomnia, it kept me away from my nightmares.) I remember when you used to poke me out of my slumbers because you felt like dancing or simply because you didn't like being the only person awake in our creaky apartment.

"Sometimes," you whispered, your words tickling my earlobe. "I feel like I'm the only person in the world - y'know, when I'm awake like this. And it kinda scares me but in a weird way, it also feels nice being this alone so then I just wake you up so you can feel like this with me."

I remember how all the books sitting on your bookshelf were crinkly because you liked reading in the bathtub and you'd get distracted and drop the books in the water. When we went on the occasional road trip, you would haul half of your body out of the car and just scream; your voice was swallowed by the night air and lost along the highway.

In those five years of us, you were the best thing that happened to me. You sat by me while I struggled through endless periods of writer's block, you wore your velvet black dress (and looked so lovely) and held my hand at my grandmother's funeral, you listened to me complain and baked me cookies after a long day of work. You were my starlight through all those years, did you know that? I can't remember now if I ever actually told you.

I used to sit in your favorite chair and listen to you rehearse for your auditions, I sat in the front row of all yours plays, clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers (lilies, by the way) and watching you on that stage, with your eyes all lit up, I have never been prouder.

You sat on the kitchen counter, your slender legs swinging and your feet bumping against the shelves below, as I attempted to make us Mexican food for our Valentine's dinner and how you didn't mind when I burned the food and we ended up eating pizza on the roof of your building. I remember how we spent New Year's together when we first started dating and your eyelids were covered in glitter and you squealed as the first fireworks exploded in the sky above us.

We made so many plans, they seem so silly now. Four kids, you had decided, two boys and two girls, all adopted. Along the years, we did have a few pets; nothing too much, some fish, a couple of turtles, a chubby hamster who used to sneak out of its cage. When our fourth fish died, you laughed, "Babe, we're going to be such awful parents!"

I remember all our Sundays, how we read and watched sitcoms and that funny sound you made when you slept curled up against me. I remember the way you would scrunch up your nose when you felt like crying and those jeans shorts you wore every single day in the summer until they fell apart. It's weird how many things remind me of you: chocolate-covered raisins, Doc Martens, that Chinese place we used to go on Thursdays, Woody Allen movies, purple mascara, giraffes, sparklers and (especially) those songs that you put on my iPod without me knowing about them.

If you read this right now, you'd scold me for only remembering the good parts; I don't. I remember the times I didn't sleep at home with you or the week we didn't talk to each other or the time you slapped me - I do remember, it's just that those times didn't matter as much because in the end, it was alright, we always had each other. I know you so well, even now, I know how you take your coffee, or how you paint your nails according to your mood, how your fingers would curl around mine when you slept, or that place on your hip that's especially ticklist, or that spot behind your ears where you liked being kissed.

So, you know, you may have made the decision to end it all and act like it never happened, but it did. I remember the way your blue eyes filled up with tears when you told me you couldn't do this anymore, how your lips smelt like cinammon when you kissed my cheek for the last time, the way your curls bounced against your pale shoulders as you walked away.

So you can act like nothing ever happened between us, but I remember every kiss, nap on our creaky old couch, movie watched together, last night glass of wine, phone call, moan in our quiet apartment, cuddle, hand held in the dark, silly fight, meals shared and every moment where we felt infinite. I just honestly hope that you remember that no one will ever love you as much as I did and as I still do.

--

I rarely write and then when I do, I don't like it much.

This was inspired by you, by the way.