One. The oh-so-bulky laptop. Where I wrote you letters, and poems. I sat until my eyes were teary and all my thoughts were of you.

Two. The little blue car. Where we shared our first real kiss (and many more). That took us to the ends of the Earth – or so it seemed – in our pursuit of termites. You sat back like you belonged – and you did.

Three. Your eyes. I still don’t know just how to describe them.

Four. Those furry boots. God, you’re beautiful. I’m only human, you know.

Five. The tapes you made me. For my car. For my birthday. I couldn’t help but love you after that, and since. Prince would sing to me, about you. The most beautiful girl in the world? Yes.

Six. The bridge, in the park. That moment.

Seven. The foozball table. Where we wasted time I should’ve spent on actual work. I don’t regret it. (I let you win, you know. No, really.)

Eight. The beach. The sun, the sand, the surf. (You threatened me with bodily harm if I threw you in. Incredibly, I didn’t. That time.)

Nine. My heart. Left behind with a silly, amazing wench.

Ten. You. Your bare feet resting on my dashboard. The poster someone made that said you needed hugs. The ring you lost when we jumped the fence (I’m sorry). The way you scrunch (it is a word, I tell you) your lips when you’re distracted. The look on your face when I ordered – as you knew I would – a strawberry milkshake. Your not-quite-red hair. The way you look first thing in the morning, when you beg me not to look at you. You.

The laptop. The car. Your eyes. Those boots. The tapes, the bridge, the table. The beach. My heart.

And you. Always you.