Evening came too soon, and sleep drags me away unwilling.
I’d close my eyes and say a prayer, hoping you find love.
For me, it’s always out of reach and so I question.
Lessons never learned, a Sisyphean excursion, lending to more and more of the same taste food.
Food? What an analogy for the experience, when someone says they’ve whet their appetite… Or, have you ever tried love?
We ran towards nothing, hand-in-hand, and shared the same slice of pizza.
Bite by bite, do you remember? The Marguerita slice, in late September.
We walked by and through the park, where we’d argue, summer nights and in the dark.
We took pictures of the protests, I was just learning to take photos then. But you came along, and this is how I want to remember you.
I have a tendency for making bad memories into the ones that are permanent. The trauma-precedence, so I can’t remain friends even if I tried to.
Because I remember the times when I was most hurt, and I wonder now if you still wear the Acne Studios sweatshirt. Or maybe you threw it away. It always looked so good on you, it made me want to hug you.
There were times when you were all I needed, and I cry sometimes because it’s not that way. You made a choice. I did too. And that was the last I saw. I wonder what the flight back home was like for you, what the nights were like, the days, endless. And now you’re probably alright. I know you were in Spain, or Europe, and you’ve found a place for yourself. I wonder what you know about me.
I have actually stopped keeping tabs, but I remember and I feel that in the distance, you remember. When you’re down and life is hard, is it me that you think about?
I think about the choices I’ve made, which were the good ones? Which bad? Who could determine it at this juncture? Tomorrow, I’ll sleep late with the heavy blanket that you shipped to me. I’ll hold it close, remembering, how the weight of you felt.
I began to read When Breath Becomes Air. I am sad when I read, and I remember you shared with me how much you cried as you read it. You are the one love, and I hope you’re okay. But will I be fine? I don’t know much these days, about love, about life. It’s one endless day meeting an endless night.