reprising the bitch

	Lily Allen   Littlest Things   Alright, Still

It would be nice if lovers were like movies. I’d have lovers in boxes, on bookshelves, a messy pile by the bed. There are some movies that you see only once, others you play over and over again without tiring. I could rank my lovers and keep the good ones close to the television.

I run my hands through a particular pile. There’s a movie I need to play, a scene I desperately need to see. It was a moment when I felt happy, when I thought love was the strongest thing in the world. I turn the television on, pop the disc in and allow the images to fill my mind.

It’s been years since I saw it but this movie still feels very fresh. I wonder how long my mind can preserve these thoughts. They say moments like this never cease to exist. They’re just there, suspended in time for all eternity. Why then do I feel like I’m seeing a picture slowly overexposing? It’ll be all white soon. I need to recapture it with my mind’s eye.

Will I always remember the darkness of his eyes, the firmness of his grip or the smell of the street as it rained?

We were walking home, one of many walks we took around that time. It was past midnight and though darkness lurked in every corner, I felt safe with your arm around me. I don’t really remember where we came from or what we were doing. All I know is right there, right at the intersection, I realized we were at the point of no return. We had somehow jumped off a cliff together and made it out alive. You were already a part of me, a part that would hurt if ripped out.

“So this is me,” I said, my standard goodbye. My umbrella made little splashes as water dripped into a small puddle by my feet.

“Thank you for tonight,” he said, the street lights reflecting on his dark brown eyes. If I ever drowned in those dark pools, it would be the sweetest way to die.

And then he kissed me. Under the moonlight, under the guidance of the nighttime sky, he wrapped his arms around me as our lips touched. I felt lightheaded. In the middle of it all, I felt him push a small piece of paper into my hand.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s nothing,” he answered. “It’s just a note. Read it when you get inside.”

As I watched him walk away, his shoes making splashes on the water, my knees felt a little weak. Here was a man madly in love with me. I didn’t know what I did to deserve him but he calls my heart his home. When I was younger, I often wondered if I had let my chance to fall in love pass me by. But then all I needed to do was see him smiling at me and my heart would fill with hope. His smile expressed a silent wish. Maybe tomorrow won’t be so bad.

It was just a moment, a split second in the quilt of history, but it was our moment. I closed my apartment door, a huge smile on my face as my body sank to the floor. I touched my lips, the same ones he just kissed as my other hand struggled in my jean pocket for the note he gave me.

“This love, ever ours,” it said. How silly of me to believe.

Is it wrong to hold on to him like this? It’s just one of those days, one of those feelings I don’t indulge all the time. The end credits of our movie starts rolling, a song playing softly in the background. Would you take it against me if I asked you to dance? I close my eyes and imagine him in front of me. I wrap my arms around him, a feeble embrace as my hands fall limply on where I remember his neck to be. Our bodies move to the soft beat. If I tried hard enough, I swear I could even smell him. I inhale sharply, let his scent fill my very being. Outside, the clouds start to darken. Something tells me it’s going to rain soon.

Original Posts: Moment, Dati...