He doesn’t describe you like the others.
The others were transient memories shrugged off the morning after. The others were provisional, time-stamped and concluded before the onset of any hangover. The others were inferior to your impervious mark carved in his mind.
The others withered into the realm of the girls fucked and forgotten, but you… you somehow stayed.
How did you accomplish this feat? How did you stand out amongst the others? What was it about you that made him recall of you, not just once, but for weeks and months?
Why are you the girl he remembers to this day?
He doesn’t just remember but cherishes these memories of you. Each and every memory is a stretched tale told as if the story of you and him is an ancient fable.
He accounts your interactions in a restless tone, eager to describe each minuscule detail.
When he speaks of you, his hands flutter in all directions and his eyes glisten with your reflection.
He is jittery with a novel excitement and a hope that you are something more, more than what he has experienced.
You are the teacher of what could be, the closest he will come to the epic love spoken and sung.
He speaks of you with such ease and clarity, like a song he heard years before and rediscovered again today.
He speaks of you with the fondness every girl deserves and if you knew, if only you knew, you would cease your frivolous doubts and recognize the merit of what is right in front of you – a certitude of potential to love and be loved.