We stood there and shared a moment.

One which was perfect enough to not want to change, yet not so perfect that you'd be afraid that you'd ruin it. Perfection, here, wasn't an absolute.

I remember what you said to me and I remember the tone of your voice. 

Many years from now, the words will fade. In the scratchy taped version in my head, your lips will form soundless words. I will, even then, remember the look on your face and the funny, fluttery feeling that I felt somewhere at the bottom of my stomach.

That little patch of time was swathed in layers and layers of emotion. I knew there were all sorts of feelings - awe, unbelievable happiness and the tingling surprise.

There was also some variant of fear; that I would never ever witness something so special ever again.