Warm

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Everything was perfect.

The autumn night was perfect.

The rooftop restaurant, with the breathtaking view of the busy highway below was perfect.

The wine that left that funny, warm feeling in my chest was perfect.

You, trying unsuccessfully to hide your satisfaction at my reaction, were perfect.

We were perfect.

We danced, alone on that rooftop, in perfect synchrony.

You whispered something utterly stupid in my ear and I laughed. Way to kill the mood, Don Juan.

I bit your earlobe and made a soft, dog-like snarling sound. And it made you laugh like it always did.

Look at us. Still here, still silly as schoolgirls, still in love.

Even after all these years.

Perfect.