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I'm writing this down because I don't ever want to forget the way it was. It doesn't seem as if I could, now, but they all tell you things change. And I guess they're right. All I know is that I don't ever want those days to slip away past a nostalgic moment or déja vu when the same thing happens years from now.
Not like anything could ever be the same. That would be too good to be true. Or would it? The grass is always greener on the other side, but the grass with you was always perfectly trimmed, bright as could be, with flawless pink flowers arising from its depths.
I always want to remember the little things. Like how you could never hold my hand just right- you were always one space too far over, so that your pinky stuck out from the mesh.
Like our first late-night walk in the park, when I told you everything: how my day was, how life was going, how I was absolutely crazy for you. And at exactly 10:47 PM, you took my hand with your pinky sticking out, and asked me to be your girlfriend.
Like the time we camped out by a bonfire in my backyard, and you looked me dead in the eye and asked, "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"
I said there was only one way to find out.
Like the time we went to the movies, and spent the whole time throwing kernels of popcorn at each other, and laughing at all the dirty "grow up" looks we received.
Like the time we laid out on the grass, dripping wet, remnants of latex balloons encircling us, laughing at our first "fight".
Like the time you came over because you needed to tell me something. Something important. And even as tears rolled in sync down our cheeks, you still somehow made me laugh like there was no tomorrow. Because there wasn't.
Like that last night together, sitting atop a hill watching the pinks and oranges and yellows collide in a sunset burst.
Like our final moments on your doorstep, when neither of us could think of something to say. All you could do was wrap your arms around me, part your lips every so slightly, lean in close, and- just as you're about to kiss me, about to set off the last round of fireworks- whisper how the tears in my eyes make them shine even brighter. And before I can even respond, before I can even muster another sound, the moving trucks roll out, and your pinkies aren't sticking out anymore.
It seems now as if it was all a story- some boring, overrated, hopelessly-in-love yet scary realistic dream that I just woke up from. I told you my time with you was the best of my life- we say that a lot, don't we? We always look back, and engrave ourselves in nostalgia, wishing things were still that way. But what we don't know is that at some point in the future, maybe in ten years, three months, or two and a half seconds, we will look back on now and want it to be that way again- pinkies out and all.