The Daily Dime: First.

I can remember the first time she said, "I love you."

I.

Love.

You.

We were driving down a road. It was late, or perhaps early if you approach it from the back angle. It was well after midnight. I can't remember what road, I can't even remember the car. Neither are important, neither are what happened there. What happened is what happened.

I was pulling up to her house, a black square against a velvet black canvas. I put the car in park, and looked at her and said, "Well, I guess I'll see you later."

"You'll see me tomorrow," she said. "It's my birthday, and you're going to kiss me."


You.

Love.

I.

I can remember the first time she said, "I love you."