When we were first married our fingers always smelled of perspire. Our skin was flushed with a warm glow. We left the windows open in the bedroom because we could keep each other warm during cool autumn nights. We dressed to impress each other and would tell each other when we thought the other person looked nice. You bought a new jacket and I would feel inside the pockets while we walked, running the silk between my fingers blissfully. It felt so good it gave me shivers. We were married to each other when we were first married, but we were also married to our youth. We held onto it tightly, savouring each moment with juvenile fervor, uncertain whether youth would outlast our relationship, or if our relationship would outlast youth.

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