here in the corner of this walled-garden.

i wore a long black skirt that day, and had thrown a pink polo on as an afterthought – my outfits were all over the place in college. the sun shone into the square, draping the windows in a light gold. i saw him ride up on his bike, as planned, and pull up to our corner. he climbed up the slope of grass and sat down under the shade of a tree.

i approached him, heart quickening like a girl with a crush too big for her, and sat down by his side. the grass felt pleasantly cold beneath my fingertips, brightly green and protected by the arms of the tree above us. here in the corner of this walled-garden, on this sunlit afternoon, we too were safe, we too were glowing.

i straightened my skirt and laid down, my head reclining into his lap, and smiled quietly into his kind, brown eyes. he brushed my hair gently behind my right ear and smiled:

“you are beautiful.”

i believed him then. we were perfect then.

it is one of the few memories of us i recall in such detail.

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