I have an album in my Google Photos for pictures of Lancelot. Some are selfies he took and sent to me, one is the original profile picture that caught my eye, some are pictures of us together. Each is precious.
The profile picture, with that mischievous grin and those beautiful blue eyes. I knew I had to meet him based solely on that picture and what he’d written.
The picture he took the night of our first fight, when I was in Branson with my mom. I thought I had lost him and asked him to send me that picture so I knew I hadn’t. His smile was just as genuine.
Our first movie together, the day I left for Dehli, the first concert we saw together, our first Christmas, the trip to Dublin together, the picture he sent me when I landed in Dubai that nearly made me cry (he looked so tired but he wanted to talk to me), the day he let me cut his hair, the picture of our hands with our rings…
All of those memories, preserved, etched in pixels on the screen and on my heart.
My memory is horrid, absolute crap. So when I feel sad or miss him I open the album and look at all of my treasures and I remember the happy that I felt then. He’s my knight in a black t-shirt and I love him with all my heart.