“Close your eyes, my love, and make a wish.”
“What did you wish for?”
“You’re right, that’s unfair – I shouldn’t be asking you.”
“What did I wish for?”
“I wished to be able to look at that face every day over many lifetimes.”
“My favourite thing about you?”
“The fact that your scent- bergamot and grapefruit- lingers after you leave the room, I could inhale it all day long until it seeps deep into my pores. The plumpness of your bottom lip and how soft it feels when I gently bite it. The paleness of your skin as it contrasts against mine – its smoothness in dissimilarity to my hirsute shell.”
“Nothing about your personality?”
“Your stubbornness is endearing, especially when you’re mad. I love your radiant soul, filled with empathy, compassion, and openness to share the sorrow of others. I like the softness in your voice; it anchors me and brings me peace amongst the world’s chaos.”
The first time we met?
“It was a humid summer day; I was on the last stretch of my inter-railing journey across Europe. History had clarified my inability to look after a simple ticket – so it was no surprise – that I’d managed to lose my tour pass for an excursion to explore Florence’s beguiling beauty.
However, my disappointment soon became an adventure as I explored the cobbled city with its rhythmic bustle of tourists and humdrum. As I meandered through the streets, you stopped me with your alluring Southern Irish accent, asking for directions.
My heart skipped a beat when I caught sight of your rust-coloured hair, plump rouge lips, and sweaty-palm-inducing sky-blue eyes. I took a chance and invited you to traverse the city together, and to my delight, you accepted. You soon realised that my ability to give directions was no better than my ability to keep a ticket safe. As we gently got to know each other, the conversation was easy and comfortable, as if our friendship had bloomed many moons ago.”
“As the day wore on, I desperately wanted to be permitted to love you, not from afar but with the closest proximity.”
“Our first kiss?”
“I still dream of our first kiss.”
“Yes, I know, I am a sentimental old fool.”
“I’d reluctantly parted ways with you to join my friends, but a spark of hope was ignited when you asked to swap numbers. I returned to our dorm, which lay within the most beautiful gothic building, to find my friends in a summer-haze-induced sleep.
My fingers lingered by your number in my phone; the temptation to message you was overwhelming. Then, you surprised me; a message appeared in my inbox asking if I fancied watching the sunset on Ponte Vecchio.
That spark of hope burnt into a scorching flame as I eagerly agreed and raced through the winding streets of Florence, trying to beat the setting sun. I paused a short distance away, regaining my composure, which was futile as it vanished when I set eyes on you again. You stood there in all your handsome glory, waiting patiently as I willed myself to contain my betraying emotions.
We walked side by side up the teeming bridge, my whole body aware of yours as if it were vibrating—the hair on my arms erect like furry mountains. When we reached the intricate arched window in the centre, you declared it the perfect spot to watch the blazing sun retire for the day.
We huddled in closer as the sunset set the river alight, and you whispered in my ear that you’d had the overwhelming urge -all day- to kiss my tender lips.
Unable to respond, I just nodded in your direction, which you took to mean I felt the same. You pulled me in closer, and my heart beat rapidly against my chest, threatening to burst through in all its modesty. I looked up into your eyes, afraid of their thrall, as you gently arched your head and kissed me softly on my lips. Forgetting where we were, we kissed again, this time urgently, my hands uncontrollably running over your lean body.”
“You tasted like caramelised honey, inviting and intoxicating.”
“At that moment, I wanted to be consumed by you.”
“Did I expect to see you again?”
“I thought you were a beautiful mirage, conjured up amongst the charm and allure of an Italian summer. A fragile, gorgeous illusion that would disappear in the cold, harsh light of day.”
“I remember our last moments together on the marble steps of your rental, inhaling your scent in desperation and sadness. My heart cracked and shattered as you bid me farewell, and I grabbed you close for another lingering kiss, not wanting to let you go. As you drove away, I waved at you and mouthed goodbye, my face masked in forced, pleasant animation. Once you were out of sight, I sat on the stone-cold steps and wept. I had finally found someone, but he lived across the treacherous sea in Dublin.”
“Even though it had only been a week, I loved you with every fibre. Yet, I feared to tell you that in case you called out my insanity.”
“The first week back in England was torturous; summer was over, and you were gone. The monotony of everyday life was broken in those moments when I’d receive a text or hear your voice on the phone. A question lingered on my lips: will I ever see you again?”
“And then, cause for jubilation, you missed me too and asked if you could visit. A series of intermittent weekend visits began markers by which I began to live my life. I’d lay next to you on those nights before you departed for Dublin as you fell into contented sleep, my whole body filled with anxiety—thoughts of never being close to you again swirling in my mind.”
“The first time I said I love you out loud?”
“Now, you’re just teasing me!”
“Yes, you are – it’s embarrassing!”
“We’d just had a lovely weekend away in the Cotswolds. Everything had been perfect. It must have been six months since we’d first met – Oisin from Dublin and Amir from Coventry.”
“Then came the dreaded Monday morning departure; I took you to the airport, and you held my hand as I drove. We exchanged goodbyes, and I tried not to cry for the millionth time as I watched you walk away. You called me from the departures lounge, and I lost all my sensibilities for some reason. Before you could speak, I shouted down the phone that I loved you and didn’t want to be without you. I was met with silence, and then you asked me if I was choosing to say I loved you on the phone rather than in person. Embarrassed, I backtracked and told you I shouldn’t have said it; I’d been overcome by ridiculous sentiment. You suggested a redo of the entire conversation, but we both ended the conversation in awkward silence.”
“I remember driving home and reliving the conversation repeatedly.”
The first time you told me that you loved me?
“A month had passed since I’d last seen you, and we’d avoided the topic over the phone. As we walked along the cobbled streets in Dublin, the Christmas lights twinkled above us like dreamy stars. You came to a stop unexpectedly and declared you were an idiot. An idiot who was in love with me! I laughed nervously and asked why you loved me.”
“Yes, I still remember what you said. How could I forget it?”
“We celebrated by going for a few drinks and were filled with euphoria by the night’s end. In our drunken bliss, you stumbled onto your knee in the early hours of the morning and said fuck it, just marry me already!”
“As I shouted yes in agreement, you slipped off one of your cheap silver rings and placed it onto my finger. In return, I stole a flower setting off one of the tables lining the bustling cobbled street and handed it to you gallantly.”
“Our first fight?”
“The stupid house!”
“You were obsessed with buying that ugly house, with its structural damage, just because it backed onto the canal. When I highlighted the disadvantages – the damage, flooding risk, and rat infestations you stubbornly declared that you had more veto power. When I asked why, you infuriatingly informed me that you’d moved here from Dublin. We argued for days until our friends reminded us how lucky we were to have found that elusive thing called love. Luckily, our agent found a property overlooking a river deep in the Cotswolds.”
“We were naive, though my love, bricks, and cement didn’t matter.”
“Our wedding day?”
“It had been two years since we’d met unexpectedly as if destined by fate.”
“We hired out a beautiful cottage that was surrounded by wildflowers in hues of lilac, fuchsia, cornflower, gold, and burgundy. A gushing river ran alongside it, and all our friends and family gathered in the garden for the ceremony.
We wore matching emerald green suits filled with beautiful embroidery, which complimented my dark curls and your waves of red. Our song played in the background as we walked up the rose-filled aisle. When the registrar asked for any objections to our matrimony, one of the children shouted their objection, causing a ripple of laughter. As we shared our vows, you cried – well, practically sobbed – which I think is the first time I’d ever seen you shed a tear.”
“The cake?!”
“How can I forget that disaster? When your sister tripped over her dress, taking the cake with her. I almost had a full-on meltdown until I felt your arms around me, grounding me at that moment.”
“Do you remember the lights?”
“The garden was lined with lights, creating a warm golden haze. We had our first dance under the Willow tree as the lights glistened around us like fireflies.”
“It was a day filled with bliss, hope, and a promise-filled future.”
“Do I have any regrets?”
“None, not even a glimmer of regret. I loved you from the very first moment I saw you.”
“Are you going to die?”
“No, rest my love. Conserve your energy as much as possible.”
“I know that you’re scared; I’m afraid, too. But I’m here with you; you’re not alone. The rescue team is on its way; you will be okay.”
“No, the wound doesn’t look too bad; keep applying pressure.”
“Yes, I know it hurts. I wish I could take the pain away, my love. Just stay with me; you’re strong.”
“We have come too far to give up now.”
“Of course, I’ll kiss you, but it isn’t a kiss goodbye; it can’t be. Our story has just begun, my love.”
“I can see the hunter who shot you by mistake; he’s coming back with help.”
“Just focus on my voice.”
“Imagine us dancing under the stars as you look into my amber eyes. Listen for the patter of little feet, as our children’s laughter echoes through the house. Breathe in the scent of sticky cinnamon rolls as it wafts out of the kitchen window while you sit in the garden reading your book. Look for the light that surrounds you, filled with hope, love and joy.”
“It’s not too long now; hold on a little longer.”
“Squeeze my hand and let it anchor you to me.”
“Please stay with me, my love. Please stay…”