Dear Chloe,

I'm in Brussels now and I just came back from the Atomium. Remember how excited you got when we bought the tickets? You were squealing and laughing when we got to the top after a million flights of escalator steps. You loved the exhibitions - especially the ones on the nordic nomads. I loved it when you read all the signs of all the exhibits, trying your hardest to digest all the information given. I loved it when you read them in different accents which you insisted are real.

When we finally exited the gigantic molecule building at the end of the day, you pulled me towards this vast piece of lawn nearby and made me do all the weird poses. When I refused to cooperate further after an embarrassing "Put your hands between your crotch whilst doing a half-squat" stance, you pouted and requested to switch places with me.

I remember taking over the camera and looking through the viewfinder; I remember my breath hitching in my throat when I spotted you through that tiny rectangular window as you basked in the glory of the sunset.

You are so beautiful.

I'd laugh and tried to spend the entire roll of film on you as you worked those ridiculous poses, but I never got the chance. After your 20th pose, you ran over and grabbed the device from my hands.

"I've always wanted to do this," you whispered into my ear as you held me close and extended the camera to face us. I smiled at the camera, not realizing that you've turned your head to plant a kiss on my cheek just as the flash went off.

"I love you," the last words I heard before I got lost in your lips.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you too, and I'd do anything to keep that smile etched on your face forever.

On our second day in the European capital, you decided that we should try all the chocolates in the city. After all, "this is the hometown to Godiva and Neuhaus," you'd argue. And who am I to refute that? So I let you pull me around the city, getting our feet wet with all the melted snow as we went from one chocolatier to another. My throat was burning at the end of the chocolate fiesta, and I whined.

I'm sorry that I whined.

You simply shook your head and said you understand. You pulled me into a cafe and ordered a pot of Camomile tea with honey from the waiter. I watched you dirtied your hands as you squeezed the lemon halves, letting the juice drip into the cup and ignoring the papercuts you'd gotten from earlier that morning when you flipped the maps. You hissed softly and wiped your hands against your jacket.

"Sit here and wait for me," you said. When you saw the worry in my eyes, you smiled. "Don't worry, I'll be back in a jiffy." And then you were gone.

By the time I'd finish the whole pot of tea, you were back. The smile on your face was blinding as you sat down next to me with a package in your hand. You were excited.

I remember gasping and flailing when I opened the package. Inside, it was a bunch of vinyl records of a couple of my favorite artistes. They were all vintage and yellowed. I couldn't believe that you remembered. I couldn't, because I'd merely mentioned about the records on the fly.

But you remembered.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you, and I couldn't be more proud to call you mine.

Remember Chez Leon? We were both so hungry and tired but you insisted on finding the restaurant. It was our last day in Belgium and you said that we couldn't leave Brussels without having their mussels. I remember laughing at your quip as we hobbled down the wet, cobbled streets.

It was almost 8 in the evening and the sky was dark. It was winter and it was freezing. Your arm wrapped around me as you struggled to read the map with your other hand. The wind blew and it caught on to the flimsy piece of paper. I remember you yelping and chasing after the wind, ignoring the blisters on your feet and the mess that was your hair.

You'd never look more beautiful in that moment.

I watched you disappear around the bend and I waited. I knew deep down that you'd come back for me but you didn't appear after a few moments. I was worried; I was worried sick. I started running towards that bend, trying my hardest to ignore all the possible scenarios that could happen to you.

I can't lose you.

And then you appeared, panting hard like I was when we almost crash into each other at the end of the bend. You flashed that goofy smile of yours as you held out a container. Its sides were fogged with hot steam and you gingerly lifted the lid to reveal a handful of mussels swimming in pipping hot white wine broth.

"Here you go," you whispered, picking up a piece of mussel with a small plastic fork and blowing on it before holding it out towards me. You eyed me as I closed my lips over the warm piece of seafood, giggling when I hummed in contentment.

"Chez Leon?" You shook your head, pointing down the alley where the locals lived. A wrinkly-looking granny stood near her door smiling at us. I remember Mrs Delacroix - what a sweetheart. You'd beg every household, knocking on their doors to ask if they've mussels.

You didn't want me to go hungry; you know it was late. We sat by the curbside and you fed me the remaining mussels, insisting that I finish them all. "I'm not hungry," you said, placing the empty container down. I'd leaned in and gathered you in my arms; my hunger all satiated and gone.

And that's when I heard it. You looked almost guilty as your cheeks blushed. But there was none left.

"I'll have the sandwich back in our hotel," you whispered, kissing me on the lips as you pulled me up on our feet.

Maybe I didn't tell you, and I couldn't tell you enough - I love you, and I promised myself that night that I would never, ever let you go hungry again all the days of our lives.

I miss you, Chlo.

I wish you're here with me.

Forever yours,

B