The Botanical Garden Day

Hej you,

　　I thought a lot about what to write to you on this special occasion. In my mind I have weaved this letter a million times, always figuring out how to best smelt all that flashes through my mind the seconds I am and am not thinking of you. In the end, words are still all that are left of me, of you, of us.

　　It shouldn't be such a luxury to write something happy about us. We have them, after all, many of them. It's just that the urge to write when there is something painful is always so much stronger than the alternative.

　　But this letter is not about me. It's about us. About our botanical garden.

　　Yes, today is our Botanical Garden Day.

　　Do you remember how much we expected it? We met at the place we met hundreds of times over the period. You were wearing a white T-shirt with your blue jeans, and that blue jacket I came to fall in love with.

　　Do you remember how it was in the botanical garden? The air was fresh, damp from the rain, and a bit foggy from the sprinkler system. You took the first picture of me with your "real camera" there. Do you still remember explaining to me how photos can be noisy, how to apply depth of field, how to take selfies that actually resemble the real person? And there's this greenhouse we couldn't get into. You pulled me close when I admitted I was nervous, and told me that it can be a good thing.

　　Do you remember the walk to the motel? The dark alleys. The building anticipation by how close we were to each other. You hugged me from behind when I sat on the edge of bed. The way you took me, claimed me, and made me completely yours. The orders, the dirty talks, the sweet whispers. The intimacy so natural that it made everything else we've ever had pale in comparison.

　　You carried me around the room, took care of me, and had me washed from head to toe like a baby. The jacuzzi that was too loud for us to talk over. The instant noodle we made but forgot to eat before we fell asleep. The breakfast we gave up on just to stay in bed together a little bit longer. In the dim light you took pictures of me with that focused look I'm hopelessly obsessed with.

　　How I wish I could capture that moment as easy as taking a picture. It was perfect. I never want to forget the way I felt that moment we were snuggling in bed together.

　　And then we walked for hours, hand in hand, along the river.

　　It's like imprinting. During that night we planted roots deep inside each other. They intertwined with our veins and it is impossible to remove any part of them as long as we are still breathing.

　　So here's to us, with this shot of tear I drained for you. No matter what happens.

D.