Seattle

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Rainy days turn into sunny cities.

An urban landscape filled with nature.

Cities against trees, vines across skyscrapers, flowers growing through the steel beams and over the rising glass.

Early morning coffee dates.

Late night sushi dinners.

After midnight, drinking wine in each others laps on a leather sofa in one of our apartments. Your high rise condo. Waking up in your shirt, you shirtless. Eating breakfast in, eating me out.

Cold kisses in winter.

Sweaty embraces in summer.

Getting a dog. Husky, maybe.

Going camping. Making love under stars that we don't remember the names of.

Watching tv against the background of the city. Listening to music. In the car, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. Sharing showers. Sharing clothes. Sharing faces. Sharing memories. Wishing we lived on a beach. Missing California. Your first love. Fighting across kitchen islands, behind bathroom doors, through telephone wires, across the pacific. Lowering your voice, whispering apologies into each others ear like a fading song. Kissing away the pain. Living on coffee and sex and tv and money and food we usually don't cook and bills and each other. Wishing we weren't in the city. Forgetting why we stayed in the city. Remember when we met in the city?