I honestly can’t quite place the moment I fell in love with him. Was it when we first kissed and the taste of Jack Daniels, cigarettes and chewing gum blended in the most exquisite way? Was it when he first held my hand and raced me on the same streets I used to walk at young age holding my mother’s hand as she filled my head with endless love fairytales?
I honestly can’t quite place the moment I started to picture him everywhere. I pictured him driving a fast car, with music blasting as I sang along and he made fun of me because I quite frankly can’t sing at all. I pictured him sitting with my family, a warm smile on his face as days got colder outside. I pictured him holding me through my darkest times and encouraging me on the best ones. I pictured him everywhere, and when it all became real, I couldn’t remember how life felt before him.
I honestly can’t quite place the moment I became so fond of his eyes. A simple colour would never be enough to describe the wonders they enclose. Sometimes they resembled the calm before the storm; a cloudy sky and a fretful weather. It was breathtaking, and made me want to look away because I simply didn’t feel worthy of such mysterious beauty. Sometimes they were more like a peaceful pond on a warm summer day, filled with the prettiest reflections the sunlight could ever grant. And sometimes his eyes were the pacific ocean, boisterous and untamed. They would haunt me in my dreams and bewitch me during the day, luring me to drown in them because they spoke a thousand languages and had millions of stories to tell. I’ll never know what swam around in the great depths of his eyes, but whenever I met his gaze it fell like the first time all over again.
I honestly can’t quite place the moment his name started to feel like home,like the only place I felt at peace. I never even knew home wasn’t always four walls, but a cheeky grin, a childish laugh or a long hug. Whenever we went to bed, I would stay awake after he drifted off to sleep and quietly whisper everything I wasn’t brave enough to say when he was listening. And as I felt his heart steadily beat on his chest, I hoped that the next morning he’d wake up and feel loved.
I honestly can’t quite place the moment where everything I saw, touched or did started feeling like it would’ve been better if shared with him. Two years after the time we first kissed I still crave him in the purest form, to wish him goodnight and to be with him when he is at his worst.
I honestly can’t quite place any moment leading up to this day, because he was the first person to ever make me feel this way, leaving nothing but a trail of sloppy kisses, morning coffees and half cigarettes. I can’t quite place any moment leading up to this day because I will never be entirely sure if what I feel is love at its purest form, admiration or a mixture of both.
And maybe I don’t really care about finding out when or why, because it’s all still such a haze and I’m not looking back, only forward into his eager, wanderlust eyes.