Roses in December

I have been spending a lot of time on the road lately, giving me a lot of time to think. Lately I have taken to reminiscing about “the good times.” Logically I know it is probably not the best way to spend my time; but I just can’t help myself.

I can’t help but think about the time I was sick and he came over after institute to visit me, and he told me the story of Leo the Lion while I was falling asleep. And the time he dropped me off for my second week in Tucson when I left my makeup bag in his car, and he drove at least an extra hour to give it to me to make sure I did not have one more thing to stress about when I was already so sad. And the time we watched the Olympics for 2 weeks straight and painted flags on our toenails. And that same week when we played and kissed in the pouring rain outside my house. And how we would have magnetic poetry contests. And all of the times he drove all the way out to Pedro’s even though he did not like it that much, because he knew I loved it. And the time we went to the corn maze with Tommy. And the way he was willing to drive out to my grandma’s house on the Fourth of July, even though we probably would miss the fireworks, just because I am a sucker for tradition. And the time and thought he put into my “Going Away to Tucson CD,” and how I still cannot listen to “Do You Remember” without crying. And the way we both cried in the theater during The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. And all of the times we would sign in the car, especially to “So What”. And both spring training games we went to {two perfect days}. And when he helped my study for my Government AP test, and how I can still remember the more important aspects of the iron triangle. And how safe I felt in his arms. And how he always {said he} thought I looked more beautiful without makeup on. And running through the fountain at Tempe Marketplace, and discussing The Picture of Dorian Gray over pasta and hot wings.

And I could do this all day.

Then I inevitably remember that you can’t build a relationship on good memories.

But it is oh-so tempting to try.

"If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out." -Jane Austen, Mansfield Park