remembered or forgotten, this is love

I thought of my stomach as a furnace heating the rest of my body, yet easily forgetting my fingers and toes, as I drank the last of my hot tea. We sat across from each other with blankets draped across our shoulders, as most girls do. Our empty cups now abandoned to the floor, left to be forgotten.

"What is your favorite memory of him?" I pried
I spoke of her husband, they are in their first year of marriage, and yet it seems as if something is missing already. She smiled, and I knew she already had a memory picked out, yet she delayed and then spoke;

"In the beginning of our relationship, he would always help me with the work on the house. I liked this! Now, He is busy and doesn't have much time, you know?"
I saw the pain of her neglect, yet the desire to be understanding of him with the way her head tilted to the side.

"Well, once I was hanging the clothes on the..."
She motioned as if she were hanging clothes on a line. Sometimes we have to play charades, because of our own language barrier.

"Line?" I asked
"Da (yes), on the ...line. He came to help me with this, and as we were working he would move the clothes and make faces at me, and just playing around. It was fun, I don't know why, but this is my favorite memory."

Never in all of my life have I pictured something as perfect between two people in my head, as this. I adore the fact that she didn't say a memory of the time when they went here, or the time he took her there, it was just a time when they were simply together.

She would have her hair piled on top of her head, and wouldn't have any make-up on, because she was just doing chores. How the sun would be alight making everything bright, and all of the particles caught up in the spring wind visible. He would come from around the house, and at the very sight of him walking to her she would smile. He would move the damp towel hanging between them, and kiss her hello, and oh how it would be a kiss like James Stewart and Grace Kelly, for a moment they would forget about chores. She would blush and eventually take another shirt from the basket signaling him to go away or help, and of course he would help. He would do anything to be near her, and to make her laugh. He is addicted to being noticed by her. Every so often he would lift the clothes between them and make faces, completely enraptured by her reaction. Soon they would make a game out of who could hang the most clothes in the shortest amount of time. I can imagine the way they would laugh together.

This is love.

I picture my stomach as a furnace warming my heart, as I drink these day dreams down. Valentines day is approaching, and it has me thinking about "loovvee." Even though I don't have my own someone to kiss through a cloths line, I do hope I will, one day. I am sure it will become a favorite memory among many to me as well. I find myself hoping that he will remember this, and show her that he isn't too busy, and that he certainly hasn't forgotten.