11 Of The Greatest Things We Have All Experienced Before

Catherine Douma
Catherine Douma

1. The brush of a terry cloth towel against your damp skin; the feeling of your bare feet sinking into cool, wet sand, the tides pulling you by the ankles; the low crackle of the car radio and warm, drowsy kind of tired that comes only from long car rides; a pillow agains the window, the salt of gas station junk food still lingering on your tongue.

2. The crackle of a baguette and the smell of fresh tomatoes and mozzarella; the floral-printed cotton camisoles and the fray of worn denim; the feeling of tall wisps of grass grazing your calves, the tips of your elbows; a jar of fig jam, the curve of back dimples and the wiggle of brightly-polished toes; pancakes on a Sunday morning, licking melted butter off your fingertips.

3. The feeling of someone’s stare, hot on the back of your neck; the smell of burning toast and the whistle of a tea kettle; the electricity of accidental eye contact, pins and needles in your legs after a long train ride; the sizzle of bacon, the shrill ring of the landline above the hum of a small kitchen TV set.

4. The sound of a spoon clinking against a porcelain bowl, the crunch of a mouthful of cereal; the bleariness of vision not yet adjusted, the murmur of Saturday morning cartoons floating in from the next room; the white noise of rain, the loud silence after the TV clicks off, the daze of leaving a movie theater at dusk.

5. A cloudless sky and a spoonful of peanut butter; almonds in the palm of your hand and the sun’s warmth on your bare stomach; the bittersweet first taste of a grapefruit, the shutter of a disposable camera; summers of strawberry-stained lips and the loudest of laughters.

6. Clean hotel linens and the taste of sea salt; the dull whir of a ceiling fan on a sleepless night and the soapy hum of a dishwasher; the feeling of being indoors on a hot summer day, the kitchen tiles cool against your bare soles.

7. The first bite of a plum, the scrape of a kneecap; the slam of a car door and scribbles in a notebook’s margins; the velvet smoothness of a low voice, the dull burn of sleepless nights spent staring at the ceiling; the moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years has a private inner life entirely hidden from you, tightly tied and tucked away; a forgotten birthday.

8. Ballet flats and rainbow sprinkles on vanilla; the swirl of milk in earl gray tea, coffee rings on the worn pages of a book long forgotten; rosy cheeks and the dusting of freckles; candy hearts and sugar dissolving on your tongue; a soft quilted blanket wrapped around bare shoulders, the tinkling of a piano.

9. Cherry blossoms on canvas, the smell of fresh paint drying; a vanilla candle and the smoothness of cooling wax; apple-scented shampoo, bare sandy feet out of the car window; the sweetness of almond milk and notes scrawled on ink-blotted diner napkins; Mother’s Day flowers and comfortable silence; the moment of sudden appreciation for another’s beauty, the secret tracing of the slope of their noes, the angle of their jaw, the flecks of golden sunlight hitting the tips of their eyelashes.

10. The smell of last night’s bonfire still on your sweatshirt; a fleece blanket and the taste of cinnamon; the ding of a toaster and the smell of hazelnut coffee grounds on a Thursday afternoon; unanswered calls and the smell of pine needles.

11. Iced tea and grass between your toes; unexpected rain and the taste of honeydew melon on a summer afternoon; a plaid picnic blanket and the twist of cherry stems; the feeling of someone braiding your hair and the quietness of waking up before the rest of the world. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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