Central Park

When I think of you, I’ll think about that first weekend we ever spent together. I’ll think of cityscapes, juice bars and waiting around for Ubers. I’ll think of getting lost in the music, in the people, in you. I’ll remember your excitement as you held onto my hand.

I’ll remember the look in your eyes when we went back again. How much it felt like you wanted me to fall in love with the city just as we had fallen for each other.

When I think of you, I’ll think about the first plane ride. I’ll think of the nights we spent talking, drinking wine and staring off over the hills. I’ll think of all the nights you told me it would all be okay. I’ll remember spending the moments after you fell asleep replaying all of the moments from the day, memorizing every detail of you.

Maybe I did that because I knew there would be countless nights where I would wake up, and I wouldn’t remember where I was – but ultimately I would know that you would be close by.

When I think of Central Park, I’ll remember what it felt like that day.

I’ll think about the late nights we spent together, talking, lights from the street cascading through the windows. I’ll remember the days where the temperature in the room far exceeded any regularly heated room. But, more importantly, I’ll remember the smile on your face when I bugged you about it. I’ll remember Sundays, hiding underneath the covers, wishing we could stay like that forever.

When I think of you, I’ll think about passion that emits from every crevice of your body. I’ll think about the adventures that we never wanted to end. I’ll think of all of the things that changed my life.

When I think of you, I’ll think of Central Park, I’ll remember being in love.

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