Interlude

Whoever said “Opposites attract” really knew what they were talking about.
You look at me with your grin reaching your eyes and I want to be able to smile like that, as well.
If there’s anyone I could learn about happiness from, it’s you.
You’re capable of seeing the beauty in food, technology, psycho cats, and everything else I’d turn away from.

Yet, as we lay together, our breathing synchronised, I feel this strange connection to you: like I understand where you come from even though I’m never going to be coming from there myself.
Your hand finds mine, and our fingers intertwine. I smile to myself, you smile to me.

The time we shared was perfect, truly.
Nothing can tarnish the memories I have of you.
We walk through the city I call home in comfortable silences, you smoking cigarettes and drinking bubble tea along the way.
We have conversations about Life and Happiness and Darkness, punctuating our sentences with soft, lazy kisses.
We explore each other, body and soul; yet don’t quite have each other.
My mind races, in an attempt to compress and earmark all the mental pictures I clicked into a folder with your name on it.
Now when you’re gone, if I want to remember happiness, I just have to open this folder there it is, plain and simple, happiness as ordered.
Thank you for that.
I may never say it, but I do miss you.