just between us.

the very beginning

Violet Flores

I like to reminisce a lot.

It's kind of my thing actually, I like to dwell, and dwell, and dwell until there's not a single memory I've picked apart and analyzed.

Sometimes, when Im in the middle of class, I like to completely ignore the lesson and think about my past.

Most of the time it's random. Moments as a kid, moments now, moments I want to have, moments I wish I didn't have.

I can be a bit of an over-thinker too. I can admit that.

When I wake up in the morning, it's hard not to analyze everything that could go right or wrong today, the conversations I might have.

I'm the type of person who likes to open notes and write out arguments I might have, and imagine what the other person would say back, and then what I would say back, and so forth.

Most of my mind is imagination. It was as a kid, like most children I liked to play games. But not video games, or board games, I liked to make full story lines for myself. Maybe I was a lost girl who made her way to a small town and met her prince, maybe I was the evil queen who had a tragic backstory. The list goes on.

I do the same now, just a bit more...natured. I make up scenarios. Typically, they're my fears. The things I have zero control over, they scare me. So I like to imagine how they could go in my head, maybe it's an argument over a conflict I've never been brave enough to bring up, or maybe it's a story Im waiting to play out.

When I'm not imagining, I'm thinking. More factual things, memories for example. I like to scrape my mind for them, I tell them back like stories to myself as if I wasn't the one living them.

My childhood, my schooldays, my friends, my family, my teen years, sometimes even things that are recent.

But my favorites?

They're all him.

From basically the start of my life, my best moments, my happiest ones at least. The ones you look back at and think 'awww I miss those times', the ones that were so good you don't even feel the need to pick apart what you said, or how you looked, or how he might've seen you.

That was the level of comfort we'd grown up in. Our mother's we're close friends before we were even thought of, so when we came into the world, two days apart by the way, it was natural that we grew close.

Sometimes, when I get bored at night, I like to lay in bed, and think back to our play dates as children. Maybe I like to romanticize a bit...but I see no harm in it.

Tonight, as I laid in my wreck of a bed, sprawled out between pillows, blankets, and assorted stuffed animals I refuse to grow out of, I let my brain roam, searching for a memory to fixate on.

"Okay there's no way someone can be that bad at piano." Elliot laughed, face plastered with confusion and pure humor all at once.

"I'm your living proof am I not?" I tried to keep a stern face, but as soon as my eyes met his, I lost it.

"Listen I'm trying-my best here-" I put my hands over my head, my face turning red from laughing so hard.

As I pulled my hands away from my face, he reached his over to meet them. My stomach bursted into butterflies at the touch of his hand, my face still semi-red.

"Here, just place your hands like this..." His face was serious now, a slight smile still there.

I watched him as he moved my fingers with his against the keys, guiding the way.