Five years later

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Approaching our five year anniversary, I asked my then boyfriend, “What is my favourite colour?” “Huh?” He answered, confused. “What, is my favourite colour?” I repeated. “It’s pink,” he said. I shook my head and folded my arms across my chest. “No. It’s Tiffany Blue. And I actually fucking hate the colour pink.” – “Okay? Well close enough,” he said with a shoulder shrug. “Close enough isn’t fucking good enough. What’s my favourite food?” I continued. “What makes me smile the most? What is my favourite thing to do in the entire world?” He held up his hand motioning for me to stop. “Where is this all coming from, and why are you asking me this right now?” As I stood there looking at him, knowing that he couldn’t answer any of the questions I’d asked him, correctly, that’s when it dawned on me. “Because,” I said. “Every time I walk away from you, you beg me to come back swearing that you love me. But how can you love someone that you don’t even fucking know?”