Our paths crossed when I was eighteen with rose-colored glasses of what love is like and head filled with sugarcoated dreams stemmed from romantic movies.
We met, we talked, we listened, we laughed, and we danced between the line of friendship and romance as though we’ve been waltzing for years.
It was quite a roller coaster for us, but you took off my rose-colored glasses and I realized both the truth and fallacy behind the gestures in romance films.
We were hour-long conversations, gentle words, random laughter, and undisguised affections. We exchanged songs, we told childhood stories, we reveled in comfort, and we got closer and closer until our feelings blossomed into that four-letter word and we highlighted them in poetic phrases and long nights spent talking. We agreed, we argued, and there was nothing perfect about it all but you were there just as I was there when comfort was needed – and even when it wasn’t. The door was opened and closed several times, and it has been a year since you first walked towards my home and knocked on the door.
We filled a year with so many memories and so much laughter that despite the grey moments and stormy days, I am always reminded that you were my favorite poem that I wrote several times on my journal.
Nothing was perfect, but it was good. Really good. We gave each other a piece of ourselves, and I’m a sentimental keeper. We met, we talked, we listened, we laughed, and we danced for a year. I have yet to dance the same way again with someone else.