*If this isn't good,
I don't know what is.*
I thought to myself.
It was a habit I picked up
from reading too many books;
to acknowledge the good
occurrences when they occurred.
It seems they happen more often
when you pay attention.
However, don't imagine
that the scene was perfect.
We woke up
on a hardwood floor,
hungover
and sleep-deprived.
My jacket was
the pillow,
and, luckily, someone
had draped a blanket
over us.
A cat wandered
under the blanket,
and sat down on my
naked shins,
which shook us
from our slumber.
She laughed as his tail
swooshed slowly across her leg
and pulled my arm
around her.
"I never expected
to wake up next to you."
She said,
in a whimsical way
We shooed the cat out
(he was quite stubborn)
and laughed together at the
absurdity of it all.
Later, we kissed farewell
and promised to meet again.
Now, I sit in contemplation;
recalling all I can about the night.
Moments are just that --
moments.
Parsed smaller and smaller
the further you look.
I don't need to remember each
minutiae -- how many seconds
elapsed between each breath --
only how I felt at her side.
I think this is what I'm aiming to do:
to hold each reminiscence sacred.