I remember driving in my car with you for the first time after unveiling our thoughts, and I had my hand on the gear shift, even though I didn't drive stick, that's just where I rest my hand.

And you put on "Dogs" by Page France, and the windows were down and we were going to the beach and you put your hand on top of mine and my heart calmed and I put my palm out and you placed yours against it and our fingers interlocked and I looked at those eyes and I smiled a smile I hadn't smiled in so, so long, and you smiled back and my heart sobbed with the simplicity and perfection of it all...the perfect shade of cotton-candy-pink-and-blue sky, the perfect combination of atmosphere and sound.

I remember one time you fell asleep. And I pulled the covers over you and I sort of tried to look at you while you slept as quickly as I could before I felt weird. And I admired the way your lips were open as slight as they could be, and I loved how vague yet perfectly scattered your freckles were. And I wondered at my inability to look away. And I remember it dawning on me that I would do anything to protect you. And I understood that my size wouldn't matter if anybody ever hurt you, because I would tear their faces apart. And I tried my hardest to not get so attached, but your face when it was asleep killed me, and I fell across chasms every time I looked.

I remember that one time you started by telling me you had never told anybody this before (albeit now I'm starting to question the validity of that statement). And you told me. And I apologized, and you said it was okay, and I said I wished I had known you when it happened and you said it's okay it's okay and all I could think was no it's not really okay but everybody has a story and everybody has bruises and everybody shouldn't have to cover those bruises all the time and when they meet someone they can trust they should be able to tell them. You trusted me. And I knew it. And my heart danced and my mouth cracked and my legs shook.

I remember when you asked me if there was anything I've never told anybody before. Yeah, there was. And I didn't hesitate to tell you. And you wept and you held me and you told me it was going to be okay, but I still knew deep down nothing would ever really be okay. And then I just remember thinking that I was, for the first time, beginning to realize everything could be okay if only it could be shared with someone. I remember both of us seriously thinking we would be able to last till time stopped.

And I remember you leaving.

And I remember not speaking to you for years.

And I remember putting on "Dogs" today, and smoking a cigarette, and thinking about you, and seeing my hand start to shake. And realizing that I don't know what to do anymore.