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Memories

Laundry

Every now and then I think of you

like today when I got a whiff of the way your laundry smelled

not all laundry smells the same
yours always smelled distinctly good…

Sometimes the memories just pop back up

Your tall ceilings
drinking morning coffee while we sun bathed in your yard
tender moments in the shower
your cool red lamp and the smell of palo santo
the depth of your soul
the width of your mind
playing music in your office room
playing cards
your laugh that didn’t happen all that easily so when it did it was extra special
exploring consciousness
dropping into the body in ways I hadn’t done before
your exquisite home cooked meals
talented creations & artistry
your amazing dog
and comfortable, lux sofa.

Sometimes I wonder if you think about me too.
If so, when?

When you’re lonely and wish you hadn’t let me go?
When you’re having so much fun that you’re glad you let me go?
In passing?

Not like it even matters.

I hope you’re happy now


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Memory

I still think of you from time to time

sometimes memories are triggered without invite

Like today… when I glanced over the dish rack and noticed I lined up the plates the way you would…

or occasionally when dubstep shuffles it’s way into my playlist…

and from time to time when I reflect on the mistakes I’ve made and how I could have been better

or when I regret staying for so long when early on I could already tell it probably wouldn’t work

I’m sorry for not being perfect.
Thank you for the lessons.
Thank you for the good memories despite the bad ones.

I wish you well…

~*~*~*~*~

Sometimes I get the urge to text you to tell you you can still count on me…
sometimes I want to tell you about things I’m learning…
sometimes I wanna send you funny things I see on the internet and wish we could still talk

but then I’m like nah fuck that,
because there is still this little part of me that is upset by the bullshit you put me through – which technically is the bullshit I was the one who kept accepting — so who is really to blame?

*sigh*

I guess maybe I’m not yet fully healed from it
and in some ways I feel like the bullshit was necessary for me to learn to do better and be better

I hope you are doing better too

despite the bullshit, I still love you
not like a lover now… but like a human and a friend


the memory of your smile is one of my favorites and I hope you are smiling a lot out there…

…..

sigh

it’s weird when you have let go of someone you love…

:’-(

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Memory

I wish I could delete memories.

I’d start with March 16th 2019. That way I could still look at you the same as I did before it happened.

 

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Cycles

Every now and again your name will pop up on my screen bringing me back to 2017.
Every now and again I’ll look up your name and see what you’re up to.
I’ll replay Kate Nash’s Nicest Thing on rare occasions when I come home warmed up by the night’s festivities and an extra shot of tequila.
And I’ll scroll through old memories…
I’ll dream up girlish fantasies of how one day I’ll be pleasantly surprised by awakening to the magical reality that we’d end up together.
And then the logical, adult, cynical part of me scoffs and laughs at the silly romantic in me.
And the silly romantic laughs at the cynic who doesn’t dare to dream.
I get shoved back into place by the strike of reality that says: MOVE THE FUCK ON. STOP GOING BACK THERE. STOP FANTASIZING AND RELIVING THE PAST. JUST STOP!
Then I’m over it. I get in my flow. I forget your existence.
And on a random Wednesday afternoon, there it is…
The devil’s name across my screen.
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Memories

Sometimes the memory of you surfaces above my subconscious where I tightly stuffed the records of you, double shutting the lid covered in bold red tape I’ve labeled “KEEP OUT.”

I pause —

Everything pauses.

All but blurry images of us that unravel in my mind like a movie.
Stop. Fast forward. Rewind. Repeat.
Slow–motion–play.

The commentary that comes to mind when I think of you is something along the lines of “What the fuck was that? What was the purpose of our worlds colliding? Was I supposed to learn something from this? Why did you appear to bruise me? To scar me?”

I pause in search of the answer —

Silence.

At times in my head I imagine scenarios where some future circumstance magically unites our paths. We’re older now. Different. Molded. Morphed into something new by the experiences that shaped us. The look exchanged in our eyes are more mature. And in this moment it all makes sense. I finally understand. You finally understand. And there is peace.

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