Lying on a bed in a crap hostel in San Francisco next to him, avoiding the bedbugs and smelling the ocean from drying clothes...
Spooning in bed under pounds of duvets, keeping warm and sneaking my nose into the back of her neck...
Stealing her car back from him on a mad winter's trip south. Getting stuck in a snowstorm, and parking at an abandoned gas station where we swore we saw a shotgun poking out the window...
Sitting on the curb at 3 a.m. talking when everyone else had gone home, feeling thermals swirl around us in the snow...
Driving to Ohio with naught but a jar of dimes...
Watching as he wrote our names in crayon in the restauraunt booth. Feeling the sting as I noticed years later that it was still there...
Meeting him clandestinely at the hotel and spending the entire night wrapped naked together in white sheets...
Climbing the cliff-face to a small domed library looking out over the sea...
Going to the Kurort with genuine concern by her, after being harassed by her brother to drink more...
Walking up the hill at sunrise, carving a certain symbol in a certain tree...
Reading at my first open mic with the frenchman and the german, having men put my coat on me and returning home along medieval streets and seashores...
Arriving in Jackson's Square at 5 a.m. and chatting with the punks and bums...
Curling up with a book and peppermint tea with honey in a room turned church, lit by candlelight...
Walking alone in a long black coat through the middle of the street, seeing the wind swirl hundreds of shed feathers through my coattails...
Standing on the cliff at Inis Mor, looking down, and seeing nothing but white, like the world was unfinished...
Hiding in a boat with drunken strangers from the Guardi...
Being taken in the backseat of the car by her, heels dragging the ground...
Coming back to him in the dark and having him ask me to stay...
Crashing a wedding in dust-smeared clothes...
Daring them to laugh as I tripped on the satin...
Crashing a New Year's party and dancing to Irish trance...
Drowning the car along a riverbank in the rain...
Frisbee and canned vegetable soup on the banks of the Mississippi
Remembering the little things like snapshots in my mind, better than any photo album...
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