I remember stupid things.
Like how the light made shadows on your forearm,
and the side of your face,
the warmly tanned skin painted with light.
And how I stopped kissing you for a moment to tell you
that the shadows were pretty,
then your eyes looked into mine,
the unexplainable fiery golden eyes,
and you tilted your head and laughed a bit,
and pulled me in closer,
and kissed my neck.

Its stupid.

Its stupid that I remember,
and that the air was so still that day,
and that you signed the bottom of the pumpkin you bought me,
and that it still hasn't decayed.
Its stupid that I still think about all of this,
and when I kiss my boyfriend I'm too nervous to tell him about the shadows on his skin,
or to meet his explainable eyes,
because it will bring me all too close and all too far from that moment.