I still remember how good it felt to come home late at night, always sneaking in as quietly as possible in an attempt to not wake my sleeping roommate. Heading straight to my room, I'd peel off each piece of the evening's work clothes and replace them with boy shorts and a tank top, while anxiously awaiting to pour myself a margarita and pop him open a Bud Light.

The patio door would be kept open, and the two cats would stroll outside to sit on the couch overlooking the pool from our balcony. I'd sip my drink and gaze in whatever direction he pointed at, listening and observing the constellations I had never been familiarized with.

With his arm around me and my legs draped across his lap, we drank and talked into the early morning hours as the rest of the world slept.

How easy it is to forget how great these moments are once they're gone.