Perfect.

It was perfect, for I would live it all again, exactly the same way. The same conversations at the same time; the same distance and then the same closeness of our bodies as I hesitantly sat closer to you, and you let me be there near you. I would not change the manner in which our eyes met only frequently, but always so deeply, and seeing in yours that animated light. I would hear again a million times about your wishes and your aspirations, and I would again experience observing you and feeling this joy in my heart, this joy and this gratefulness and even this longing as my wish to connect with you intensified. I would experience again spending hours alone in the room bent over from laughing at the lamest things. I would even live again the confusion of having said one thing and wanting its complete opposite. I would live it all again, this time, this night, these hours. Our story is far from perfect, but the present moment always is.