One Year

Thursday. One year with Yuri. Exactly one year ago I came home, sat in front of this computer and typed that I had a boyfriend as though I had been informed of a medical diagnosis. Today feels completely different because there was no uncertainty. He knows me now. Not the polished version from the first month. He knows I become impossible before tests, that I require four biscuits with tea because three feels incomplete and five feels greedy, that I will say `”I’m nearly ready”` while still deciding between two tops, that I can spend forty minutes discussing a DJ transition and then forget where I put my keys. I know things about him that aren’t romantic either. That’s the point, I think. A year isn’t twelve months of being impressed with somebody. It’s surviving the accumulation of ordinary evidence. We went out, exchanged presents, ate, walked in the cold and talked about last December. He remembered details I had forgotten. I remembered others. We kissed in almost the same place where everything started.

I still like him.

Quite a lot, actually.

Useful result after twelve months of research.

Remember me, Eclipse.