The best I can do is recollection, and recollection is never quite the same as the initial collection. When you recollect isn’t it always biased? Only the details you wanted collected remain, and even then they are REedited, REremembered, REworked, and REcollected. Well, I guess I’ll have to trust, meaning ultimately you’ll have to trust, that these were the thoughts I thought the past 3 days in your absence…

I thought of your smile, the last smile you smiled at me when I left the room and let go of your grip not forcibly, but because distance and momentum drew our hands far enough apart that they dropped between us. Symbolic?

I thought of you playing bass, how the cacophony of sounds created a din of instrumentals, but every pluck your index or middle finger laid upon those strings rattled me; it vibrated inexhaustibly as your callouses shimmied down the fret board, just like momma told you to.

I thought of the way your hair curls at the ends, how some are heavier chunks, but the ones that frame your face are just scattered enough to tickle my cheeks when you hover over me, and just weightless enough to fan from our oscillating breaths.

I thought about sitting at the kitchen table for too long every morning, drinking coffee, and about how you always leave at least 1/3 in the cup. When I leave coffee in a cup it’s often with the intent of saving it for later. When I see yours sitting in the sink, a residual film of pale brown Cinnabon creamy lining left on the porcelain, I think, he’ll be back, he was saving that for later.

I thought about our conversations: conversations over breakfast, conversations during walks, conversations smoking hookah, conversations about conversations. I’ve never had so little and so much to say all at once, nor someone to share the sentiment over the significance of insignificance.

I thought about our muffled speech as we walked together with scarves tightened around chapped lips and petrified ear lobes. Sometimes words were no more than sounds and I listened instead to your voice, you have a beautiful voice.

I thought about how every time I watch you perform I have to pretend I’m not staring directly at you, when as far as I’m concerned you’re the only person in the room.

I thought about how good you looked in tie dye, how you’d look in a dyed tie, how I’d die if we weren’t tied so close.

I think about how often I think about you, is this healthy?


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