Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Love letters I never sent #3


Do you remember that time, long ago. We were only children. We cuddled under covers and played at being in a tiny pod rocketing through space. Just you and me, and no one else for light-years away. Our only companions, the asteroids that fell into step behind our little piece of home.

We giggled, and searched for each others eyes in the dark. You took my hand and held it to your chest. You rested your hand on my cheek, and then on my waist. You laughed and told me a scary story. Like this was all natural. Like we weren't doing anything.

I don't think I heard a word you said. I remember vague memories, but my senses were overloaded. Too much was happening for my tiny brain at once to comprehend. All I really remember was the butterflies in my stomach. More like pterodactyls. Snapping at each other in my belly. I couldn't see your face. And yet I distinctly remember your smile. Maybe I simply imagined it in the dark. But I remember seeing it there.

I remember thinking I loved you so completely then. I remember thinking that I could die right then, and all would be right with the world.

I wonder if there is anything as total as childhood love. I want to love like that again.

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