Two years ago today, I took a picture of the man I loved as he lay sleeping on a hotel room bed. And it seemed so silly then, to take a picture while he slept, but I think I knew it would be the last time for us together like that.
I look at the picture now, and the light coming through the bathroom door reminds me. The bottle of water on the nightstand reminds me, and his worn white t-shirt reminds me; of the passionate and peaceful, easy way we were, like brand new lovers who had known each other for years. And all of those things remind me of what I must never compromise again.
I still have his voice saved on my phone, recorded two years ago this week, and every so often since then, I listen to the message again.
"Hi, Baby," he says so tenderly. "I just wanted to welcome you home. I hope you had good a flight. I miss you already, and I just wanted to say... I had the best three days of my life."
I'm not heartbroken by him, I'm heart fixed by him. I was more accepted, respected, and cared for in those three days than I have been by any man in the last five years, some of the deepest moments between us existing in silence in a noisy room. And I don't need a picture to remind me of what love is, but I'm so glad I have a picture to remind me of what love is.