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You know exactly how soppy I could be, hence the flowers carried across states, hidden in your backpack and delivered over a meal for two, after a random walk, on a chilly evening.  You picked well, red roses, not too many, just one, but sweet enough, to get a smile on my face, a lingering one,  for the surprise and taking my words the previous night in all seriousness on wanting flowers from Amsterdam at the dawn of winter.

A white shirt always works, you know I like it and we have too many photos to prove it. Seeing you in one at a concert cracked me up, in your suit and what not, standing outside without a ticket (and too far from me, the one holding your ticket to shout your name to be heard by you) and making me walk out and leave with you without being squashed at a crowded concert. Well who cared for the 100 euros lost? Neither. A walk home with your coat on was nicer. Noise was not much my thing either. Let the first winds of winter blow on your (my borrowed) coat, as I walk with my hand in yours. It was a nice walk, remembered.

I had forgotten I loved trains, or that people would jump off one to kiss someone (except in movies of course) until you jumped off one, to kiss me and run off again.  Such be movies for many, for us it be real life. Between sessions of annoyance where one of us or both would walk away too angry to respond, lock one’s self out of the room having forgotten the keys inside, while just “going for a walk” we know we find our way back to each other, across State boarders, and over the years.

The man at the pub with whom you decide to have a random chat tells me, “That’s a very good looking young man, why don’t you marry him?” I laugh my head off to your annoyance. For me it seemed funny, and your annoyance turned happiness when the compliment be translated, from French to English, for your comprehension.

Morning  you would rush off to work too careful not to wake me while getting dressed, but careless enough to wake me with your rushed kiss on the forehead. I watch you run off to catch your train, the dishevelled being in your shirt while you turn around for a wave of goodbye, and an extra smile. Yes we have our moments.

Here’s to all those moments, of love, frustration and all but boredom, for me and you, and for many more years of screaming at each other but just knowing each other too well, to know exactly when to stop screaming, and just “go for a walk” in silence.

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