“Come here, come sit down,” you took my hand and ushered me to sit on the grey sofabed in my apartment.
I, having just applied a fresh layer of red liquid lipstick on my lips, must have furrowed my brow wondering what you were up to, but followed along anyway.
You sat me down, facing me, both of your hands clasped in mine. Your right leg suddenly bended, and before I knew it, your right knee landed on the floor. And just like that, you were kneeling in front of me, my hands still in yours.
I might not remember every little detail of that sunny autumn afternoon. That life-changing day, when I ought to have mentally recorded everything without exception. But no matter how I hard I try, I can’t remember which song was playing in the background, what shirt you were wearing, or even how your voice sounded - if it was slightly higher pitched than usual.
Although, I strangely remember the smell of roasted chicken, our late lunch we had devoured earlier, still lingering in the air. I remember the warmth I felt in my cheeks as you opened your mouth to speak. I remember how your hands never let go of mine.
What I distinctly remember, my love, is how I suddenly understood my own definition of happiness. How my definition of future would always include you from that moment on.
You, who always make me feel at home. You, who never make me feel lesser than. You, who, when I complained about my false eyelashes that were bothering me, told me that I didn’t need them to look beautiful anyway.
I was convinced, right there right then, when you pronounced my full name, asking me to be your wife and to be the mother of your children, that I had finally found where I belong.
Richard, my love, I remember how hard my heart pounded when you slipped the ring on my finger. How, at that moment, it filled me with courage and certainty.
Our story might still be in its very beginning; four years, pale in comparison to forever. Young lovers, people might say. We don’t yet know what hardship life might throw at us along the way, they might add. We could not know what series of differences, resentments, and obstacles could do to what was once flourishing romance.
But maybe, that was it, my love. The reckless abandon of young love might be what we should hold on to. That I shall never forget how complete you make me feel. How the crinkles on the side of your eyes that appear when you smile are what I seek. How I never want the sound of our laughter together, however raucous they may be, to go away. How you never judge who I was because everything that happened in the past has led us to each other. How you always tell me that I am amazing simply because of who I am and who I aspire to be.
“Will you marry me?”, you asked me, overcoming your own sea of emotions, your eyes not leaving mine.
My love, I might not recall everything about that day. But maybe, that’s okay, if it means leaving our memories some space to reinvent themselves as our story unfolds.
Though, I hope with all my heart, I will always remember how much I never want to lose you.
Paris, 13 October 2018.