It's The Small Things That Matter The Most

Amalfi coast, Italy

Sunday morning.
You are roughly tucked in.
It's your lazy morning.
Your favorite day.
A day to indulge
your fantasies.
your whims and caprices.
In the background
Norah Jones croons
Before her, Jamie Foxx serenaded you.
On your nightstand
Sit two volumes
Two books.
The Wills Eye Manual and The girl who kicked the hornet's nest
The former is your bible
You want to live and breathe it
The latter is your companion at the moment
As you travel on a chariot to Sweden.

"Baby, the chariot is waiting"
You smile as you remember
It's certain words
That reminds you of him
It's been over two decades
But you still remember that phrase
 the way he said it
And the way it made you feel
In the rusty city of Ibadan.
There are lovers. And there are men
Some men were born to be lovers
Others, just men.
The small things.
The way he says "Good morning sunshine"
While bobbing his head to his favorite song
"Going back to my roots"
You  don't remember if it was the Odyssey version or Richie Havens
But what does it matter?
It is the small things that matter the most
It's the small, small things that remain with you.

Eons later, that is what you remember
When certain words pop up in your head
thoughts of them come dancing with it too
Little notes expressing deep emotions.
 Or affectionately nibbling at an earlobe
Fingers running through fingers
Playfully in public
Painting your toenails
While teasing you endlessly
The small things stay with you
Because they are what matter.
A rose.
A flower
given with twinkling eyes of mischief

You smile again.
Yes. He will be counted as one of the few
that truly made your heart sing.
He was a sweetheart.
A fine gentleman.
A beautiful soul.
The beautiful Muslim.