The minutes felt like nonsense as we passed the time dreamily conversing.

Blissful, sensual nonsense. Feeding off of one another's topic of conversation, leaving on tangents, and eventually coming back full circle. The usual chatter between us when we're waiting for something.

Ah, there It is.

We rediscovered every area of the room.

We let the beat of the sub woofer move us as we stretched out on the cool, hardwood floor. I felt the brush strokes on the tree you painted on your desk for the first time.

We sunk into your bed, feeling the softness of the comforter with our fingertips and sailing on its waves. All smelling of patchouli and you.

We felt our warm breath against your bedroom window, and the cold chill of winter on its glass. We wondered about the Universe.

We harmonized with each other and sang perfectly in tune.

We talked about the old year, the New Year - the past and the present.

We didn't talk about the future. Thank you for that.

We swayed our bodies to the beat. A failed attempt at dancing never felt this good.

We were Independent film makers, filming various scenarios by using our fingers and thumbs.

We conquered my fear together. You helped me to fly.

We saw what nobody else could see in that room - our world. I'm so happy you let me into your world, and followed me into mine.

Ages have passed since that night. I have known you for so long, and you still amaze me every single day. You are my rough. I am your smooth. You are my John. I am your Yoko.

Of course you know already.

Unfortunately, you will never read this.

I need to tell you somehow.