In the corner of our home sat a wooden shelf, filled with memories we had collected like seashells from the shore of life. A photo from our first trip, a pressed flower from our garden, a page from your sketchbook where you'd drawn us dancing. Every item told a story, and together, they became the voice of our journey.
You added something new that morning a small frame with a note inside. I picked it up, and written in your neat handwriting was a quote: "Even forever feels short with you." I didn't say anything. I just walked over and kissed you deeply, holding you for longer than necessary, just so you'd know that I understood.
Later, we sat down and painted together on a new canvas. No plan. No rules. Just colors and emotions and each other. The day passed slowly, beautifully. And when we finally stepped back, the painting felt like us chaotic, warm, and full of meaning only we could truly understand.