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A long time ago, Reg and I took the tripod and set it up in a field just a bit away from our home. The sun was low, people that passed by laughed at us (we were standing on a table in a park), and when I came home, I’d written this up for my love. So here it is, straight from the archives.
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The love notes. The random flowers that pop up around the house. The way you bite your lip when you want to look oh-so-very-faux-sexy.
The constant teasing. The never-ending nicknames (chubby yourself). The way you say scuza when you’re trying to pass (scuza yourself)
How your eyes glisten when you’re emotional. The rib-crushing hugs. How we wipe each other’s tears when we watch movies.
The teamwork. How we push each other to do more, learn more, see more. Be more.
Travelling the world with you, and travelling to the local store with you. All the travels.
The rooftop picnics, when the only things we need are cheese, bread and whatever cheap alcohol we can find in shabby little shops.
Stumbling upon town celebrations, hidden parties, a band playing from a balcony in a little side street in Lisbon or a sky filled with a thousand lanterns in Porto.
Reaching for each other’s hand before sleep. During sleep. When we wake up.
How we love. To the next life and back.
