The Observatory

It was the summer of '97 and boy, did I love him. I never saw him again after that night, but, oh, what I'd give to feel his skin on mine again. I'd go back, not to change anything, but to cherish it. Etch every moment in my mind. I'm married now, with children, and I love my husband. At least I think I do. All jokes aside, I miss him more and more each day. Way too often, I find myself thinking back on that night: a hot, July night set the stage for the best night of my life. He came to pick me up on his motorbike from my apartment, he sold it but thought he'd take us out on it one last time,  and we rode out to the observatory. Naturally, it was closed, but he somehow got us to the perfect spot. The city lit up beneath us in the shape of the grid. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. And with the way his eyes looked out unto the beauty, the bright lights of the city reflected upon his face, the gentle but promising grip he had on me, I could've died right then.

That was the last night of my youth. I'm sure it was his too. I want nothing more than to go back to that night. A single night with him but I wouldn't trade it for the world. Often, I wonder what it is that we had. We were broke students of the world just trying to make the best of this strange feat we'd been chosen to tackle. He gave me a lust for life and I've determined that a lust for life keeps us alive.