Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.

~ Dr. Seuss

It was always the simple things in life for them. Which was rather odd, considered they were both rather eccentric people, with their over the top hand gestures and louder than life clothing, especially in Norma's case. Maybe their appreciation of the quiet moments of peace was what balanced them out. Either way, they seemed to have so many of these 'moments' that they all seemed to blur together. A single memory, of each of their experiences, their mediocre, every day activities, joined together as one. It made it an easy life, a small one, and although Once-ler was always talking about his big plans for the future, it was an acknowledgement between them both that what they had would suit them both just fine.

They did have their more memorable moments though, were they took to activities and events more suited to their wild personalities. Whether it be attending the loud music festivals of Greenville and dancing through the lantern filled streets at night, or playing an incredibly stressing game of tag through the valley, or one of their rarer moments of spontaneous 'affection', they had their gems that shone bright among the rest. It was only years later when they would both appreciate how simple and utterly perfect things had been before.

It was nighttime. A warm, summer's evening, the forest alive and buzzing with fireflies and cicadas, the animals still active and moving as late as it was. The windows were open, the sweet, warm breeze allowed to roam and wander, bringing with it the scent of fresh butterfly milk and new grass. Most evenings had been like this since spring, so it was nothing new, nothing special. Just pleasant.

They were sat on his bed, pushed against the wall to allow back rest, (and because he had bought a new one and repositioned it after the, ahem, 'river incident') not really doing much. Thneed sales were climbing still, slowly, but his family still hadn't responded to any of his calls. It was a nice period, because Once-ler had enough money to live off comfortably, without the pressure of customers and deadlines and all that. No, for the moment, life was easy.

He had his back against the wall, his long legs crossed over and cutting directly across the bed. Norma was leaning against the bedstead, perpendicular to him with her own legs crossed over his lap. Not much conversation was passed between them, as Norma was very involved in her book, the latest Rosemary Sutcliffe novel, and the Once-ler was thoroughly engrossed in the knitting of a Thneed. He would whistle occasionally, and kept swapping between the unfinished Thneed or tuning the guitar, and maybe occasionally Norma would lift her head and peer at him through her glasses when he grumbled something along the lines of 'can't be bothered' or 'I swear that stitching's wrong' or maybe 'what's up with that chord?'

It was somewhat amusing to her to see his brow furrowed in concentration as he muttered to himself, seemingly unaware of her gaze as he pouted like a little child. On the surface, he always put on the whole, 'confident salesman' act, but it really was a wonder to see him so childlike when he thought no-one was looking. At least, when he was around people he knew well enough to let his guard down for.

She had to suppress a giggle when he pricked his finger on the needle, causing him to retaliate with a sharp, 'Sheesh!' and arch his back, screwing up his face and shaking his hand as if it would stop the pain.

Biting her lip to contain the amusement threatening to burst out of her mouth, Norma placed the book softly on her lap and tried to keep quiet, studying him. When he felt her gaze, he stopped and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He had his finger in his mouth, sucking on the 'wound' in the hopes that maybe it would drive the sting away. It was only when he realized that she was looking at him, struggling to contain her mirth, that he pulled his finger away and attempted to compose himself, wiping it on his waistcoat. She was still looking at him, he realized, and so cleared his throat in an attempt to pick up what little dignity he had left.

Once-ler found out that day that it was in fact rather difficult to shake off Norma's intense watch and get on with his work, because he couldn't help but glance at her and find her hazel brown eyes permanently set on his figure, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. At first it didn't really bother him that much, until she squeaked a giggle and it began to pull at his strings.

He frowned, and slouched further into his shoulders, grumbling incoherently to himself and knitting like the world was at stake. At the mopey look on his face Norma couldn't contain it any longer, and let out a huge outburst of laughter that made her sides hurt and cause her to double over, trembling.

His bewildered expression only made her laugh even harder. So much in fact that she had to start gasping for air, at least thirty seconds passing before she could even breathe properly again. At one point she even started fanning herself with her book.

When she finally stopped long enough to look at him, quiet giggles escaping here and there, Once-ler wasn't quite sure what to do. He didn't quite know what was so funny, but he knew that it was to do with him and whatever mannerisms he had adapted in the past few moments. As he looked back on the stabbing of his finger and the way he pressed it to his mouth in an effort to stop the pain and wash away the tiny amount of blood, there was no material he found particularly amusing, especially as it was him she was laughing at.

Yet the way she started laughing again, after what he thought was the end of it, made him realize it was just the entire situation in itself that was making her laugh. After all, when he thought about it, he'd be in hysterics himself if he were in her position. It wasn't anything that had happened that was making her laugh, but maybe it was just that she was laughing and the moment called for it.

So he started laughing too. Not forced, fake laughs just for the sake of laughing, but actual, genuine laughter because his body wanted him to. It wasn't that he found anything funny, as he still didn't understand what was, but it felt so good to laugh with her like that, and he really couldn't help himself.

They snorted and chuckled and hooted and snickered together. Any amount of time could have passed. Really, they just enjoyed doing nothing together. Enjoying each other's company.

It did stop, eventually. Norma picked up her book and carried on reading. Once-ler continued knitting the thneed, and seemed to actually get work done this time around. The smiles left neither of their faces though, and every once in a while, they'd both look at each other knowingly and grin like there was some inside joke they were sharing, which, in some respects, there was.

They had already forgotten about it the next day of course. It wasn't a special moment, not amongst other things that had happened in their relationship, and was the kind of occurrence that happened with anyone anywhere at any time.

Just one, simple moment. One that was forgotten as easily as it started.

Once-ler sighs for the umpth time in a lifetime, sinking into the old chair by the window, wonky and open with the frame hanging by a hinge, creaking in the slow, thick wind. It's not a fed up sigh, nor a tired sigh. It is the sigh of a man who has nothing to smile for anymore – nothing to cry about, nothing to scream. The crying has long since passed. His tears as dry as the barren wasteland lurking beyond the walls of his refuge.

All he has left is his sighs.

He spends a lot of time thinking. About the Lorax, about the trees, about the animals and his family, about the promises he made, and the promises he broke, and the Thneeds and the money and the axe at his hands that ended it all.

Sometimes he thinks about Norma. Sometimes his lost love would creep into his thoughts, but only out of context, as amongst other things his fiancée who left long before the Lorax had done doesn't rate high in the things he regrets. It was more like she falls under the many consequences of the one main focus of his thoughts – the trees. Norma O'Schumnsler as a whole never very often comes into his thoughts, and she always runs away quickly when she does. He has too many other things to think about than to selfishly pine after something that, surprise surprise, was also his own fault.

This time? This time he thinks about Norma. It is the first time that she's the only focus of his ideas in a long time, but until now her presence in his mind seemed unimportant. But for a few seconds he forgets about the trees and remembers the problems that hurt him personally to add to his tick list of 'Things that make me depressed.'

X Everything.

Before now, he had always expected his memories of her to be the big things – his proposal, their meeting, her leaving, all the important things, but the only thought that springs to mind is that one time, in his cottage by themselves, when they laughed about nothing. Was it that one time? It probably happened more than once. Either way, the moment is as fresh and clear in his head as the acrid air that stung his nose and throat and eyes every day.

Suddenly he feels guilty not about sending her away or the trees, but for taking everything for granted. In the moment, it had seemed so unimportant, like they could just tell they were to spend the rest of their lives together and didn't need to remember the now. Had he known then that he would one day end up like he is now, he would have cherished every moment. Focused on every second, memorized the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. Made every minute count.

How he wishes he could go back to that. How simple it had seemed then, but how utterly perfect it is compared to his predicament now.

He groans in anger and hangs his head in his hands. How could he have been so stupid? He asks himself this every day but now he has a new reason to add to his list of reasons why.

Another sigh.

It's such a shame he only realizes the value of that moment now it's a memory.