It was the idea that my holiday could be different; and it was waking up to the reality that it indeed was.

For that, I could give sincere thanks.

It was not a day with family, slaving in the kitchen and stressed to make sure that events unfolded smoothly. It was a sleepy smile and a heavy hand draped against my waist. It was the way he said, “Are you ready for some coffee?”

It was how breakfast was a conglomerate of fresh-lit smokes, creamy coffee and kitty meows.

And it was most certainly how, without hesitation, he sang for me.

It was like finding myself in some kind of blissful teenage dream where everything was romance and art and happy possibility. Cynicism and angst just didn’t exist. It was a holiday full of beautiful things; of taste, touch and sound that took me back to a happy time. Back to a time where my heart wasn’t so banged up and anything was possible.

“If you could only see the way he loves me, then maybe you would understand…”