boyflea

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The earliest memory I own was of Scooby Doo, in pieces on the floor.
The mystery-machine purple and the Shaggy-shirt green pieces of the cardboard puzzle lay on the brightly patterned carpet floor of our family home.
I could hear the ocean and remember the smell of the seaside air through the large open doors to my left, opening into a blindingly bright world outside.
The room was empty for a change; my large chaotic family were somewhere else at that moment.
It is not much: a fragment, a piece – but an important piece that completes me.
My first memory.
~~~
Missing a piece, I had stumbled into an innocuous bar. We met through other people. The conversation was pleasant and natural - the memories happy.
I let down my guard. I found words easy. I relaxed and breathed deeply and laughed warmly.
This joy lingered long after you were gone. The next time we met in-passing fired in me dreams and fantasies - I just had to see you more and more!
Fuelled by alcohol and badly-phrased bravado, I cornered you several times until you gave up hiding behind your friends and gave in to me.
We were truly happy then.

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