Four Things

The watermelon is beautifully sweet this season.

So are your eyes, they sparkle, they really do. Not with the firework-inducing brightness, but more subtle, more beautiful then the already seen objects.

You don't know how much I really do like you. I don't think you would remember if I told you right now, you might, but mostly not. You were never the one to remember all the stuff we went through, but I liked you anyway.

I told you to tell me four things you don't like about me and four you do. I can smile now, remembering that you had complained, saying it was unnecessary, but you did it anyway.

"Is this really necessary?"


"Ok, well, urgh. The things I don't like, one, I don't like your cold feet when you sleep next to me. Um, two, sometimes you mumble when you talk and I can't understand you. Three, you kick me when we're sleeping and four, you have really long eyelashes."

I laughed so hard at your comment, "My eyelashes?"

"They're humungous!"

"You're weird."

"So, you're turn?"

I remember shaking my head, tears almost surfacing then, "No, I just wanted to know."

"Let's not do this again."


You didn't get it at first, only because the one bit of memory you had put to the back of your mind, only for six months, when there would be no memory. The rest of the night we laid there, hand behind our head, other hand intertwined.

The months ticked on, too fast for my liking and I could tell you were catching onto my antics.

You know I never liked buying socks; they're just, not needed. Shoes can live without socks, it's a well known fact—from Wikipedia.

I remember the first night when we slept next to each other after the conversation and you tangled our limbs so mechanically. That sigh that came out of your lips was enough to make me smile.

It went on and even though that little smirk you always gave me shown, I knew you wouldn't let me know. I talked clearer, and surprisingly we talked so much more after that, the conversations would flow on, never stopping, just a continuous rush of words.

Its funny how one of our conversations was about how people remember exact moments in their life when things changed or when they realised something. It was the night after, you had fallen asleep against my sock clad feet and I sat up, not wanting to accidently kick you. The look on your face, contentment. I cried all night, quietly though, I think I was mumbling and I'm sorry for that.

The six month mark had come and was about to pass. Do you remember when I came to visit you in the hospital? I brought watermelon cut up by my Mum, but she only left one fork for me, so we had to share. It was beautiful.

"Y-you know what?"


"I never g -got to tell you what the four things that I like about you were."

The tears were to my neck by now, "Really?"

"Ye-yea. One, your eyes are the bluest eyes I have ever seen, they shine love, they do. Two, the way your cheeks twitch when you laugh. Three, your dimples, four, your lips are adorably soft, five—"


"I c-could go on forever."

I had hesitated, "Please do."

I guess now it all makes sense, without saying it you knew what I did and why. I can't believe you kept telling me things until that sound echoed through the room. Thankyou.

I guess I am saying this as a final saying, we never told each other that we loved each other, because I know that would have been too much for both of us. And I am glad.

You know the four things I love? Winter, watermelon, writing and well, you.