Do you remember the time I told you that there’s more to this life than waiting for death to stop crossing her t’s and dotting her i’s and checking her list and checking it twice to finally get to our names? I remember the time I told you that we’ve got two hands but one is for holding mine and what you choose to do with the other determines the who, and the how of what you’ll become. Squeeze it tighter now and whisper in to my ears what you want and I swear on the bones that were made strong when milk did my young body good, that I will break them all into dust and chalk powder just to bring you what you need. Mention it, just mention that you like the smell of new water on old earth and I will give you the rain. Take down your hair and I will become the wind to do nothing with my days but play in it. Would you believe me if I told you that all it takes is all we have and that even though that might sound like too steep a price all we have is always more than all we need and there will always be something to spare, something more to give when giving is no longer in season and the gifts of our generosity have long since spoiled? I can feel your pulse and the strength of your heart when you smile and I will never stop falling in love with the way you find your way through the days and the grace in which you absorb the sky at night as if the stars were born from the freckles on your skin, copied with precision and mapped out against a tapestry of darkness. I find you there, when your skin is further than I need it to be and I pretend it’s your breath dancing through the bare tree branches, making ghost sounds and haunting me with your absence. Do you remember the time I told you that you were all I am not and that the very first time my eyes found your eyes I was home? I remember that no matter how often I see them, every instant I cannot I am homesick like the middle of an adventure when you are halfway between forgetting the feeling of your legs in your own bed, and remembering it again. The middle of the longing and the ache of always that trails you around like a scent in your collar and the phantom tingling of fingers on skin long since forgotten. I remember you remembering. Do you?