Those first tentative, silly feeling touches, those ridiculous overtures towards each other, each leading and bleeding into the next.
The scary contemplation of rejection before you push yourself to ask, "can I put my arm around you?" The comfort as you realize they wanted you to ask.
First hug. First kiss. First time she whispers, "stay with me."
I remember all those moments, though many are long past.
The way the wind blew her red hair around her face on our wedding day as we said our vows. The feeling of pride, of comfort, of complete and utter joy.
My mother screaming to the families when she caught us kissing in the basement. Us not caring and not even stopping to tell her to shut up.
Making it only a little over an hour away from town on our honeymoon before we had to stop and have our way with each other.
Colorado, three times, a little cabin in the woods. Hours spent supposedly watching wrestling or soaps, but really just spent in quiet contemplation of each other. Or, sometimes, not so quiet.
The walk through the woods by Estes Park, talking about how we'd like to have our ashes scattered here. Finding comfort in the place, happiness with each other.
Changing her car's tire in that pizza parking lot while she watched. The admiration in her eyes when she kissed me for it.
Scratching each other's bodies in the soft glow of the television, more concerned with the flesh beneath our fingertips than the silly lights and sounds.
Holding hands by the river, watching water ripple past rocks and sand. The little bird we took pictures of watching us closely, as if wondering why we smiled so brightly.
The awkward first advances. When she forgot she was chewing gum and it ended up stuck all over my ear and neck. Her necklace caught in my teeth. Her turning too suddenly and elbowing me in the face as I approached her to kiss her back. Her screaming in the night in some dream of stupid anger, "Listen up you son of a bitch" and me laughing at the words, "and shove it in the bald spot."
Watching her sleep, when I come to bed after her. The slow rhythm of the sheets as she breaths, her hair so gorgeous as the soft lamp picks up blond highlights beneath the reds.
These moments, they're nothing to anyone but us. To me? They're everything that matters.
To have that, to be aware of it? It's a beautiful, wonderful thing.
And that is my magic.
What is yours?
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