The year was 2007 and it was chilly autumn evening in Melbourne.
Boy and I walked down Swanston Street,arms locked around each other,talking, laughing. The reassuring bulk of his back, warm under my hand.
We'd just watched a movie and I was exclaiming about how enjoyable it had turned out to be.
So many streets, so many movies,so many meals.
Koko Black. Boba. The Constant Gardener. Coffea. The Commune. Fish and Chips.Cinema Nova. Brunetti's.
Boy eating fish and chips, driving me somewhere, ruffling my hair, playing the guitar.
Even now as I prepare to move forward,I am assailed by memories of old times. Of how my head fit perfectly into the hollow of his chest. The way he stroked my hair as he held me. Of falling asleep cradled in his arms. The hugs that seemed to go on forever. His nicknames for me. Waking up to the sound of his guitar.Eating foccacia with him on Saturday mornings and watching the Iron Chef with him on Saturday evenings. The way he teased me and made me laugh. The way he carried chocolate mousse across town for me when I was sad. His gentleness and courage. My life with him was not mad highs and lows but a consistent string of peaceful sparkling happinesses. He made me feel loved, treasured and healed.
I won't close this blog like I did the last one. This post is to Boy. A reminder of the years we spent together. Of the good times. Of the love.