Her fingertips graze my cheek, smooth memorizing stubble, and she's smiling in a way that perfectly bows her pink lip's curves as if she's about to speak.

But the skyline was starting to explode around us in throbbing rainbows reflecting in the blue and green flecks of her eyes. 

The rainbows and concussive claps around this rooftop say much more than our words. 

Her lips melt to mine. 

It's always like the first time, everything familiar rendered anew, an entire history encapsulated in the way she tastes and presses.

I love her. I always have. 

Now and every new year.