Do you remember?

Do you remember that summer, back when the days stretched out unbelievably long, and all we could think about was how slowly time moved for us. I'd wake up at five in the morning, and you'd already be up, staring out the window at the new day.
'I seem to have this uncanny knack of waking up five minutes before anyone else gets up', You said to me. I wondered whether it was just your way of being competitive in something you could always win.

Do you remember the days when we'd have to change the sheets four times a week because you couldn't stand the thought of sleeping in a dirty bed. I had suggested we sling hammocks outside, but I think deep down you liked the closeness of another body, the comfort in the soft heat radiating from my back.

Those evenings we'd drink tea out of jars, and sit by candlelight. You'd play guitar and I'd work on that novel I never would finish. The evening breeze would swirl the curtains in a silent waltz and the candles would flicker and finally go out and we'd joke about sitting in the dark because candles were so costly.

In my head an orchestra plays when I think of those times. When we had as many years between us as dollars in our bank, when the beauty of living was found in it's simplicity, in the midnight swims, the dancing in the summer storms to cool down.

I still think of you in those times, you would roll your trousers whenever we had to go somewhere important. We rebelled against conventionality, against materialism, against shoes to embrace that side of life we so desired.