Souvenirs inspire me to fiction. It pours like water over the inky facts of the moment and smudges them into impressioned sentiment. Sea glass has me thinking of the day we found Atlantis, not a sunrise spent walking and worrying the future. The smell of blooming lotus; I dream waterlily seas, and sailing to the moon. Drinking by the lake with you is blurred in the reflection.
I am the Monet of remembrance.
So I cannot remember what I said that day, that inspired you to stay with me through so much that came after. I can't recall the secret you said you'd never told before and would never say again, or even the scientific discussion that kept us talking for over 10 hours.
When I think of you I only see the sleepy autumn in your hair, and the weight in your smile
when you realized you loved me.
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