I remember the hot evenings at the summer house, sitting with my grandfather as he taught me to play cards. How he laughed and acted surprised and proud whenever i won, though we both knew he was letting me win.
I remember playing with my sister and cousins, crawling on the floor pretending to be mermaids, hiding treasures stolen from my grandma's drawers.
I remember the butterflies in my stomach as i received the first texts from my now husband. The feelings trapped in my throat as my brain tried to cool things down, to reduce the expectations. Butterflies made a permanent home of my stomach.
I remember my teenager summers. The long afternoons at the park with my friends, our skin tanned and sweaty, our laughs too loud, our little dramas discussed in conversations we believed were so adult. We were brilliant and efervescent. We were promises. We were everything.
I remember crying, crying so much i thought i would drawn. Crying while feeling i didn't have the right to do it. That lie that will always hunt me.
I remember that toy kitchen made out of wood exposed at the toy shop. "It costs five green papers". I thought it was a fortune.
I remember Sundays after the mass. The coin my dad gave me shining in my small hand. A promise of sweets and candy.