for a dear friend
i. Your fingers brush along the edges of a fading polaroid, smiling wistfully as you trace the hazy outline of two young lovers, hand in hand. Even as the years leached away the vibrancy of youth, time could not erode the fondness you felt. You no longer remember when or where it was taken, this soft suspension of life. It was one moment part of many, a mere drop in the ocean. But you do not need worn photos to remember what you know lives in the spaces between your heartbeat, quiet but always, always present.
ii. There is an old polaroid in a pretty frame on your bedside table. It is one of the first things you see when you wake up, one of the last before you go to sleep. Two people holding hands, bodies curving towards each other the way lovers do, when Earth’s gravity is no longer the only force they yield to. You can’t quite remember when and where it was taken, but you do not need to. Not when you look up to see him watching you, something soft and warm in his gaze, the way he is looking at you in that photo, captured and immortalized. His affection is a quiet kind; he is not one for grand and showy gestures, but you do not mind. Not when it lives in the minute pauses of his breaths, the fluttering beats of his pulse.
iii. Nevertheless, you are glad to have this sentiment, this physical embodiment of a truth that nests in both your hearts. It tells you: you are loved, you are loved, you are loved.