What if I was thinking of sunshine and long grass,
but instead told you "I love you."
Would you just take it, or think about it, and possibly make the connection?

Would you happen to remember that summer day, where we lay in the long grass,
a secret bed in between two streets, shaded from public,
yet revealed to the sun?

Would you remember the long conversation we had?
Discussing our future together like we had a say in it, like we had a clue.

Would you remember the sun?
How it beat on you so harshly, turning your skin pink so easily, while I remained a deep bronze.

And the grass too, itchy, leaving marks on our bared legs.
The bugs seemed invisible until we were down at their level, and even then, we ignored them completely.

And how the silence was never a miserable one, I could just watch you think,
or rest my head on your chest,
and it never got old.

And would you remember how, on the walk home, you bought me Lemonheads & Friends at the Marathon nearby?
I gave you one, a red one, do you remember that?

So maybe this 'I love you' means the same thing it always does, yet each 'I love you' has a memory and a different meaning.
And maybe today, just maybe, you'll make that connection.