My short term memory is a running joke among my friends, with my boss even. I never remember anything but for some reason, I remember you.

I remember the moments before you showed up. How pretentious I thought I probably looked, with everyone else having fun as they set up the bonfire while I sat on the sand, book and drink in hand, watching the ocean and hoping to catch the golden hour. I looked up, caught a glimpse of the sunset in front of me and followed the thought with “Well then, this must be the most magical pretentious moment to ever exist”.

I remember the very next moment turning even more magical, when I looked up to the most stunning person I have ever seen in my life, walking towards me from the shore. The iridescence in the background made the scene look like something from a movie. And in typical film fashion, my brain immediately drowned out the music and all the noise. I remember setting my cup and book down in front of me, like I needed my hands to be free so I could be sure I was seeing you clearly. The memory smells like firewood smoke and the unlikely mix of sea salt and alcohol. Every time I think of you, I can almost smell it again.

I think you said hi when you sat beside me. It’s the only part of that evening I’m unsure of. And honestly, I hope you didn’t. It makes the story more interesting each time I tell it.

I remember what you were wearing. I kept staring at the minuscule pocket on your mesh top and thinking “Can anything even fit in that?” as I let that train of thought lead me to a dirty joke. I looked up, and that was when our eyes met for the first time. I’d never experienced so much ardor in a single look, yet, neither of us said a word. I was sitting before the most beautiful golden hour, yet, looking into your eyes felt like the better view.

I remember wanting to talk about your locs – how radiant they looked, whether or not I could touch them, how pretty the shiny beads were – but the moment didn’t seem to favour any words. And it didn’t matter because I would have been content just staring at your face forever.

I remember how you broke your gaze and started to watch the sunset again. How your pinky found mine and latched on without looking away from the horizon. Or maybe it was me who latched on, I don’t know. I just remember thinking “I was wrong. I can still feel butterflies.” I remember stealing glances at you as we watched the last bit of the sun disappear behind the hills. I wondered what category of life events I would file “gorgeous stranger watching the sunset with me”.

I remember getting so fixated on a single piece of skin sticking out your lower lip. You thought you were speaking to me, but I had no idea what you were saying. I only watched your lips move, never really catching all the words. It might have been the accent. Or I was just mesmerized by the good-looking stranger who plopped themselves down, locked fingers a finger, and watched the sunset with me.

And then without warning, you stood up and started to walk away. I willed myself to say something. To pull you back. To ask what you said earlier. To tell you the last thirty minutes were the most magical thirty minutes of my life. To ask if you’d by chance ever want to do it again, even though my time here was up the next day.

I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Deep down, I knew. If I spoke even a word, I would never let you walk away. If I looked into your eyes one more time, I would be willing myself to you for a million lifetimes and a day.

Maybe this is all it was ever meant to be. A beautiful stranger who looked like a goddess. An enthralling moment that felt like a lifetime. A haunting memory that keeps me up at 3:56am even though I only woke up to pee.

I do not remember a lot of things. But my nights are haunted by images of your face, and days clouded by my blurry memories of you. I may forget appointments and lose my keys but I hope you know, I’ll always remember you.