The First Year Is Paper

There was a late night cheeseburger. There was sixteen paper cranes tacked to my roof in the morning. There was love. There was Weetzie Bat dancing 1989, and she was the first one. There was a hug, and a kiss, and an early start. There were pancakes that tasted like a Jack Johnson song, stacked white like fluffy clouds with piled with banana chips, caramel sauce, walnuts and vanilla bean labna, down by the ocean. There were markets; fake cakes and real ones, long dresses and knits and cowboy boots. There was holding hands, shared secrets and more kisses. There was Sheppard’s pie, and a hint of sunshine. There were balloons, and paintings, and gardens you could hang from the ceiling and ceramic paper cups. There were many trams, and many dark clouds, but it didn’t matter because there was love. There was a dinner in a warm, familiar place, where music lived, and where people came to share their interest in it over beer and simple food. There was a Seeker, and a Lover, and a Keeper. There were hugs so tight I felt safe even though there was no air left in my body. There was a mysterious detour towards the gardens. There was a hotel with high ceilings and a fireplace, owned by a lover of the Rolling Stones. There was origami lotus flowers, a puzzle and a bow tie. There was tea, and there was love.
And now every time I walk into the room, I cannot help but smile, for the sixteen paper cranes still float above my head, and now there are precious words scattered lovingly like confetti.