Memory of Her

After Valentine's dinner, we decided to just have a low-key night and relax. The night quickly turned into a memory that will never leave me

I can see her face now. My mind goes to the Polaroids we took after our Valentine’s Day date.  She’s in front of the heater by the window, holding the pastel lavender roses I bought her. I keep telling her to smile, but she doesn’t want to. I make some bad puns and she starts to laugh; right then I take the picture. The room is filled with a blinding flash, making her blink and curse under her breath. She hates her smile; she thinks it’s ugly. I love her smile. She has one of those full faced smile, eyes shut and a huge grin across her beautiful face.  It’s such a genuine smile. One you could never fake. After every time she smiles, she always lowers her head and looks up at me with her deep brown eyes. I love it when does that. I start to wave the picture around, as she reminds me for the tenth time that night that shaking them doesn’t do anything. I smile at her and keep doing it to annoy her. I can hear her muttering in French about how silly I am. When it’s finally developed, I make a disgusted face to get her attention. She keeps trying to grab it, but I’ve got a good 10 inches on her, so I easily hold it out of her reach. I grab the handful of photos and run to the bed, diving into the covers. Before I know it, she’s cuddled next to me, one arm hugging me as she looks at me with a smile. She’s eagerly awaiting the presentation of the memories we had just made. I flip through them and we both laugh at the bad ones and “aw” at the ones we like. Her favourite is the one of me laughing, with a bit of whip cream on my nose from the milkshake.  Mine’s the one I just took. She looks beautiful as usual; gripping the flowers and laughing and smiling... I didn’t tell her that enough. Now I don’t think I ever can.