“I knew it when I met you, I’m not gonna let you runaway,
I knew it when I held you, I wasn’t lettin’ go,” – from “Runaways” by The Killers (Flowers)
They traveled. They went to Montreal, New York, Los Angeles, London, Dubai, Paris, Marseille, Cape Town, Pretoria, Johannesburg, Vancouver, Rio, Casablanca, Jerusalem, Amsterdam, Berlin, Dublin, Cardiff, Bucharest, Lisbon, Kyiv, Krakow, Nice, San Francisco, Seville, Prague, Cairo, Bangkok, Brisbane, Sydney, Perth, Madrid, Bilbao, Barcelona, Valencia, Wellington, Auckland, Ho Chi Minh City, Jakarta, Beijing, Shanghai, and Hong Kong.
When they traveled, they sometimes went alone.
They ate and they drank. They fucked and they made love. They held each other and they slept. They yelled and they screamed. They walked in silence and talked for adventure.
They almost stopped speaking five times throughout the 40 years they were together.
They liked hugs, but didn’t like holding hands.
They loved animals. Even the scary ones.
They met “later” in life, when they knew themselves better than they did when they were younger. They felt this was one of the things that allowed them to last for so long.
They accepted each other’s past because it was the past. The future was more important and the present is most important.
Since the day they met, they were both slowly dying. Not in the “from the day we are born we are already starting to die” way. They had serious medical issues that would deteriorate them into the shells of who they once were, but not before they became who they will become.
They never stood down from a fight with the world or with each other. Though they knew when to pick their battles and which wars they believed in.
When they end up on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade – her in a wheelchair and him blind and walking with a cane – some will think that it is their end. They know it is just another beginning.
They acted on stage, on screen, in bed, on the street, with others, with each other, in the cities, in the country, alone, and together.
They told their truths and accepted the lies that needed to be told to sometimes get through the days.
They spent a lot of time in The Annex.
They spent a lot of time together.
Because of miscalculations and miscues with the friends-versus-dating dynamic, they almost didn’t get together.
They first kissed at a baseball field in the middle of the night.
They spent a lot of time alone.
To some strangers, they seemed to be together only a few months, when it had been years.
They actually liked each other.
They spent a lot of time apart, living in different cities for almost a quarter of their relationship. They used their passports a lot during those years. Once, one of them lost theirs in a bathroom for three minutes and had a two minute and fifty-nine second panic attack because they had not seen the other in nine months and they were both worried they had drifted too far apart. The passport was found and a re-connection was made.
They always had a cat in their lives. A “lil stinker munchkin” was always around somewhere.
They made great friends with each other and with others.
They made each other laugh. Many times perfectly good beer was spat because of this.
They made each other cry. Many times it was a surprise for them both.
They made each other live.
After unknowingly circling each other for a few years, they started at a bus stop with no bus.
They started with a question from one of them, to which the other answered, “yes.”
And they haven’t looked back.