When I think about you and love in one sentence, I have a memory so profound and dear to myself. Do you remember? That night, we crashed into somebody’s party, whose name or face is no longer certain in our memories now. While hopping on the sidewalk and dancing untitled moves, waters from above poured like a spilled milk. None of us had anything other than our own hands to protect our well-ironed clothes. We often have the echo of our giggles and boxes of empty pasta after this kind of night, but that night no silly shows we put on mute nor a bowl of mac and cheese welcomed us home.
Your head felt heavy on my lap. So did your eyelids, then your question: “so many unknown faces back there, but I can imagine how there are lips that could spell love better than ‘let’s share our last piece of toast for breakfast.’ And yet, you are here. With someone who forgot to bring anything to shield you from getting drenched.” At this, the poor light from the screen illuminated half of your face, your eyes droopy but gleaming, “that is love, isn’t it?”
Running my fingers to your hair was my first answer to show you, “it is,”and by your smile that mirrored mine, my heart leaped that you can read it very well now. “It is love.”
“What does it feel like?”
I gave you a sigh and gazed out to the window as I was thinking. I was too busy enveloping myself with the feeling, like a child with their favorite blanket. It slipped my mind to notice if it was blue or green, or how it felt like on my skin, even when I had it on my hands for so long, but then,
“You know, my grandmother used to say that I was born when the four-leaf clover blooms on our backyard. It was April, but the wind that brought those clovers kept on whispering may may may may. May fortune is within your steps. May perseverance to reach for the stars never fade from my hands. May grins as innocent as a child never leave my lips. And may the tender heart I offer to the world be shared through and through and never run out. That was how my grandmother spelled her love to me. And one day, when I am ready, I will find my own four-leaf clover. The extension of my soul, one that feels like wishes come true.”
When you pointed to the mole to your nose, I nodded. “That’s you.”
The TV no longer gained your interest, nestled to me for more rubs to your lock did, you said, “there are four reasons for you to realize that you love me?”
“No, I fall in love with you four times.”
“Tell me”
“When I get to see, your eyes sparkle when your favorite lemon cake left you a piece in the stall. Or when your smile didn’t wear off when you found out the note I attached to your red-ink-marked notebook. The grin you hold to your chest because I hold your hand back in the dimmed light of the cinema. Genuine joy in your eyes and smile over little things works better than caffeine to make me stay awake. Smiling is easy when I met you, even when I thought I ran out of reason to. When your eyes glistened, your smile lifted your cheeks, I say to myself, I want to see it forever.”
To this, both of your eyes and lips made a crescent. Perhaps I didn’t blink as a reaction, so the red tint quickly crept to your cheeks. Just like that is plead for you to not stopping any moment, but you buried your face away. First chuckle we heard of the day.
“Also, when you cried”
“You find me crying endearing?”
“Your reasons are. You cried over how fictional love ended on fictional people. You wept on lonely bears crying for some help. You sobbed when you can do nothing if distance and time stop you from having me in your embrace. You might not know this, but it also pains me to the lungs when I saw you soundlessly scream in the bathroom and hold to the sink to avoid falling by your knees first. Like so much love you have to this world, it breaks you plenty. When picturing you cry, I want to be the first one to wipe it off before it falls to your pillow.”
To this, the last energy you have left was used to scoot yourself closer, close enough for me to smell lavender from your strands. Close enough that perhaps I could see my reflection on your eyes or faded scars on your temple. Then as close as the gap we had was our beating hearts. Just remember that I should have you in my embrace while I can, was the excuse for your arms on my waist. You can have me all night, was my permission.
“Is the third one when I was angry?”
“Not really, but I still love you when you are angry”
“Oh? Tell me?”
“When you make me feel like I was sixteen. Curiosity all over like a cat. Daring adventures like today is all we have. Loving with no manuals. When you sing with windows down on our mindless driving, who cares about turning heads, right? When you make thousands of reasons just to hold my hands. When you put my name to seat next to you in an invisible plane ticket to somewhere in your dusty list, without a doubt, while you are not even sure if what we have will last to tomorrow. Loving you makes me feel brave. I feel like I have been given a second chance to live on age I think I wasted and missed. Growing up with you, I feel like I grow younger.”
“I hope we make it to sixty or more.”
Let’s wish it upon the stars, I grinned. Like how we used to do on your rooftop. To this, you laced our fingers and folded them to a clasp, eyes closed. I wish now because I am facing my stars, was your answer next. See? You don’t spell love a lot like I do, but when you do, it works wonders.
“So”, a yawn, “the last one?”
My shoulder shrugged, and my head shook to the unknown. “I guess I leave it for now? Right here. I passed by my seconds ever since to love you again. For different why and when. No words could suffice to elaborate.”
Then shared silence. The cars outside stop running and are asleep. The clock on your living room was dead quiet, no longer tick-tocking in impatience to wait for words to come out.
How about right now?
Do you expect me to not feel anything by staring at you this close?
My bored forefinger made a move first by tracing your eyebrows, the one that furrowed funny at times, the most attractive most times. To nose and your cheek, tickled you to make some grin. Yours came along later, inspecting my hair to twirl on your fingers. The quiet snuggle of your head to my neck after, honestly, took me aback.
“Would you wish for something else if you get the chance to?”
Your head was heavy on my shoulder, then your eyelids that could no longer wait to shut, and half of your weight which warmth I always wait to come home to. “I would like to make every day feels like the first time I love you.”
To this, there was no answer. As your chest rose and fell to the same rhythm within seconds, my lips landed on your head stealthily. That night, with you as the last thing I saw before drifting away, little me inside is sure I will fall in love with you again in the morning, differently.
“With or without clovers to count, I spell love by your name.”
