You were there

You were there. And not in a metaphorical way. Even though I couldn’t recognize your face in the dark, it was your voice speaking to me and it was your arms that were wrapped around my waist. From what I remember, we only talked. I don’t remember what we talked about, but it was way in which we talked that I clearly remember right now. The same way we talked only a handful of times. As if we were weightless, in orbit around the Earth, looking down at the lay of the land.

You were there. Nothing else was. There was no future, and the memories were something tangible. Instead of remembering, we showed each other our pasts as an old friend we hadn’t seen in a long time. Just as all other friends and places seemed old, it seemed me and you were there together for an eternity. Even though it only lasted for a couple of hours.

You were there. And I think “you” is neither singular or plural . You are probably a collection of extraordinary rare moments stolen. Stolen, not seized.

You were there. Which is why I don’t like to go to sleep. And hate waking up.