I remember when it was me who made her skin flush. I remember this, of course, because the day was yesterday and tomorrow, and the time seems as though it were now. I can feel the exuberance in her expression, see the ludic dance in her voice, and hear the pleasure in her touch. I can see and feel and hear these things both now and from now, and the flush of her skin warms not only her self but my self as well.

I remember when it was me who made her smile appear, in the moments of waking in times hence when she spied me as her first sight and took in all that was her dawning moment of lucidity, when her eyes first focused and found their first and final point of romantic fecundity. I remember this moment as I remember all that I have seen.

The smile that brings life to my day and the gratitude for my being are self-reinforcing; they exist by their own premonitions; they bring the events that cause themselves. The flush of her skin with receipt of a gift gives way to the idea, the acquisition, the arrangement and arrival. The flush of her skin gives way to her hand, to her arm, to her touch, to her heart.

I remember all these things to come, in a mélange of memories and may bes. I remember them because she gave them to me; I remember because it was me who made her skin flush.