"Precious Romantic Memories"

Do you remember the day we sat on your front steps eating Ben and Jerry’s Waffle Cone ice cream? That’s one of my nicest memories of us. We sat there thinking and talking about how we were moving to L.A.

Your’s was the only mouth I never minded sharing a spoon with.

I loved those few moments. The weather was nice. We were nice. If I’m not mistaken, you ridiculed me for labeling that time as one of my “precious romantic memories.” I loved creating them with you. Only you.

I still remember how Manhattan Beach made us feel as though we could live in Los Angeles forever. Something about that little beach town made everything okay. And I remember how I made you walk to the end of the dock with me in Provincetown and kiss me as part of my “romantic memories” collection. You always laughed, even though you thought I was a sissy for wanting to create them. You always tried, though, even when I tried to make you kiss me across the table at Cafe China on Valentine’s Day and you got stuck halfway and our lips never met. I pulled the table toward me, determined to collect another memory, but you begged me not to make you do it. We laughed. We always laughed.

And you achieved what no man before you could. You made me like baseball.

I’d give almost anything to have you back with me. Anything, except the threat of your cancer coming back.