Thursday, November 19, 2015


I don't know why I do it to myself. I must enjoy it. I do enjoy it. This sweet pain of remembering you, remembering us. 

Looking back through the fog of time, the bad times are blurry. And I can pull the good times into focus. 

Of course, these good times can't be exactly how they happened. 

Dave always reminds me of you. Especially this album from 2001. Because we had broken up. And then gotten back together. And then broken up. I burned you a copy. And then we broke up. And then we hooked up. 

Ugh. You were terrible. And wonderful. And the worst. And I hated you and couldn't stop loving you. 

And Dave reminds me of you every time. Still. A million years later. There's no one else it reminds me of. 

Just you. Us. Those kids we were. 

It's comforting. Familiar. It's your face and hands and arms and body against mine. 

Tangled tongues and lips. 

I see your face in my newsfeed. I read your comments and see your likes. 

And I wonder at our pictures. We would be in them together. Maybe we would be married. Maybe we would have a kid or three.  

I always wonder. 

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