When they ask me now what I remember, the words stumble across my tongue. I remember you, and yes, I remember a lot that happened between us. I can tell tales of our wedding that make everyone laugh, that bring you to life for them. Family holidays, jokes and dinners.

I regret that they don’t remember you like I do. I remember the way you smiled at our wedding, a smile that was just for me. The way you were so happy. So impossibly happy. I remember the first time we kissed, my finger softly tracing your cheekbone. And most of all, I remember not kissing you, right at the start.

When I walked you home, that first time, and you reached out and took my hand. The way the morass of words leapt in my soul when your hand grasped mine. The way the mist seemed to close in, like a cool blanket on a hot night, and it was just us in the middle of a city.

We walked hand in hand, for the first time. talked about nonsense, barely acknowledging the gap so suddenly closed between us. And as we stopped, to drop you at the corner, I lifted you into my arms. I hugged you deep, lifting you up to look into your eyes.

Your eyes. Those bewitching blue eyes. Windows to the happiness of your soul. You were so happy. I’d never seen you so happy. It was like everything was dancing, deep within your soul. I set you down, I cupped your cheek with a hand. The mist closing in, coalesced into diamond drops of dew on your eyelashes. You were so happy…

And in my throat, the words choked. I turned away, to run away home. Your words held me, stayed my rushing feet. Like a dog, I turned back to you. “You are a good man,” Five little words that broke open my ribcage, exposed my heart and soul to the world. Again, I embraced you, lifting you a little again. I wanted to carry you away, to a castle above the clouds. I wanted to kiss you, as my soul danced inside.

I was scared to break your happiness. Scared that any move I made would spoil the moment. It felt beautiful, unreal, and fragile as a dream. Terrified to respond and up the stakes, for fear that the tent would move on without me. And the happiness danced in your eyes, and the dewdrops danced in your lashes, and the streetlamps shone down their warm yellow light.

So I didn’t kiss you then, beloved. I couldn’t. I kissed you on the forehead. Then, I turned away, and strode off into the mist and the night.

“You are a good man.” Those words echo and reecho in my ears. They were there when we kissed. They were there on our wedding day, when your eyes danced with the same blessed happiness. On every anniversary, every birthday, every Christmas.

And now, when they say to me that you are moving away from us. That you won’t survive much longer. That they can’t promise that you can hear me or understand me, Now, when they want me to remember the family glories and the wedding, deep in my past, and when all I can do is hold your hand, all I can remember is when I didn’t kiss you.

The first time I saw that happiness, and those five little words. You believed in me then. You believe in me now. I can see that much, when your eyes rest on me. Even through the clouds, that happiness shines through, and that belief. The strength of that belief. Because you believed, I could almost convince myself it was true. Maybe I am a good man.

Without your belief to sustain me, how can I exist? I love you so, so much. And all that I remember is when I didn’t kiss you.