He had a simple name; Jack. Yet it stains my tongue with a sweet summer memory. Every girl has a boy that she’ll never forget and a summer where it all began tucked away in the back of her mind. I still remember him clearly, standing there next to me lost in his thoughts. I remember him as though no time has passed since we said our goodbyes. He spoke carefully and everything he said felt as though there was a script that he programmed to follow. A script that I so desperately wanted a copy of. His touch was delicate and needy. It was a perfect balance. How my heart swelled when I felt his arms tangle around my waist as he dreamed in the blue hours before dawn.
And, god, those eyes. He looked at me in a way that I have never again been looked at. He was the kind of guy that girls can only dream about. There was one girl that needn’t bother dreaming. I heard he got married a few summers later. He got all he ever wanted: everything we had spent late nights talking about. She may have gotten him for a lifetime, but I got a beautiful summer. A summer full of hot, sticky days and passionate nights that turned into the early mornings. Days where he flashed that beautiful smile at me as I sat in the passenger seat. Where we would drive slower and stop signs begged us to stay.
He had a curious, beautiful mind. He hungered for more; more of everything. More knowledge. More things to ponder. More music. More life. More meaning. If I do recall, he double majored--something in business, I can’t quite remember--but I do remember philosophy. He always had so much to say, so many things that would make you think. “I don’t think you should read or do anything if it doesn’t provoke thought,” he once said as we walked hand in hand with the sun beating on our backs. I enjoyed the way he worded things. I enjoyed how much he cared about everything he spoke about. I think, if there’s one thing I miss the most, it’s how passionate he was about everything. It was the sexiest and most alluring thing about the man. Everything he did, he did with so much devotion. He spoke with care. He was never a bore. Our conversations were nothing like anything I had ever experienced and, on quiet days, I still find myself getting lost in his beautiful words.
Although it’s been years, I still hold onto the small universe we created under the smog of a city sky where the streetlights become their own stars.
I close my eyes and I wait there.
If ever I find myself lost, I find his voice hidden deep under memories, and I am home.
