Pancakes.

Take what you can get in life. The more memories you make, the longer it will take for your mind to rid of them all. I want to be an old woman, pleased with her past as a wild, daring, bad girl. I want someone to have memories of me being a bad girl too. We'll smile, and i'll rest my pale, wrinkly hand on his-

He was a bad boy. We shared as many passionate gasps as we did thick, smokey exhales. We were so in love. My forehead fit right into the nape of his neck. Like I was made to lay over him. I protected his twisted heart from women who wouldn't have been able to love him properly. He told me he knew when I draped myself over him, laying flat on our throne of sheets, my forehead  resting against him, my lips, as rosy now as they were then, pressed softly against his spine. The curve of my stomach fit right into the arch if his back. That's when he knew. We were so in love. Nothing else in the world mattered. I knew no world other than him and he of me. The sun revolved around his smile and the moon revolved around his mind. I was the sun and the moon. We were so in love. I still have all of the letters he wrote me, and I know that somewhere, he has the ones that I wrote him. Even though we both know well what they say, we hide them from each other. They're our own, from each other, forever in ink. We were so in love.
I still ask him every night what he wants for dinner, and every night he tells me pancakes. We are so in love.