I could spend a day lying down and tucked between sheets and covers, opening my eyes only to see the sight of you laying there by me. You hair is shorn and its worn only to accentuate the angles of a face I've grown familiar with. Familiar yet foreign everytime I look because there's always an expression I can read yet never could never say I am sick of. I know your face - your eyes, cheeks, mouth...even with my eyes closed.

The line of you is long, and as the linear patterns of the blanket fall haphazardly off your shoulders and onto your side, I see the arms that keep me close and safe. And the hands which cup your sleeping head have a strength that are used only to trace my own face gently. Sweetness is the only hand that has touched me.

It is 6 a.m and not light out but I climb down the rickety wooden double-decker to grab a drink of water and sensing a warm body missing, your sleepy voice calls, "pi*?".

"I'm right here. Coming right back." I have never left, not even for a second during the times you said that you did.

When my imagination stops running away with my hopes, I am happy right here and right now with you.

You and only you. Because this is all it takes to say, "it is enough". I watch us unfold with the romance of every black and white Hollywood show reel. It's an infusion of all good things.

And I can never get used to saying goodbye. The sour pangs inside of my chest everytime I give you the week's last hug make damn sure of that.

Three and a half good years. I can safely say I remember every single one of our days - all thoughts, words, deeds and things left unsaid. There is no such thing as too grateful for you.