This Sunday afternoon, I decided to clean my house and redecorate it. It was long overdue, I’d been putting it off for a month or two now. While cleaning, I happened upon a carton of books.
The books that I fondly read and re-read when I was seventeen. I had a habit of marking intriguing lines, words, quotes, and dialogues, well, I still do. I surfed through a couple of them and began reminiscing. I felt skittish, and for some reason, there were butterflies in my stomach as I recalled the glorious days of awkward teenage years. Of course, I’m exaggerating for effect. But, I sure was a hopeless romantic as I am now and the books I read only enabled the young lover in me. With each book, I reacquainted myself with the memories attached to it. My brain, was flooded with these thoughts, and emotions were on overdrive as I was emptying the carton.

And, there it was, my favorite book, the book responsible for the epic love of a lifetime. The book I fell asleep with, and woke up to, rolled over to the other side of the bed, the book filled with little notes and the initials of two names outlined with a heart, the book I used to quote love letters, the book that you gave me, our book.

I picked up our book as if it were a newborn baby, I stared at the cover for a few minutes and hesitantly opened it. A withered Tulip fell from it, the Tulip you stole from Mrs. Lynn’s garden. It was a late winter evening, and we went to the pier with a bottle of cheap alcohol. We were drunk and dancing under the soft light of the lamppost. Then, like a typical lovesick moment in a book, you kissed me. Funnily enough, I can still feel the taste of the alcohol on your lips. That evening marked the beginning of our epic love. I stuck the Tulip in our book as a souvenir, to secure our memory. Years after, my heart’s fluttering as I relearn the rhythm we danced to that evening. I think, I’ll store the winters where my heart belongs the most to ensure that there will be several years after.

~a.ch// fragments of fond memories// young love