I talked to you all weekend. You were with me day and night. You were with me when I bitch slapped this asshole at a bar and asked if he wanted some more.
You were with me the next day when I met up with an old friend and talked and laughed until our cheekbones were sore. I knew you would enjoy listening to our childhood stories.
You were with me on my walk this morning. We reminisced about old times: When you jokingly propositioned me the night before my wedding, and that kiss you so vividly remembered, but never happened when you left town.
Back then we worked so hard to suppress our feelings, blacking out memories over the years that followed.
This morning we marveled in delicate amazement over every second we can bring back to life.
We watched a movie together, on the couch, like normal people do. It was beautiful, and when you saw me sob like a baby, you knew why. My friends called asking to hang out. You came along with me.
Out for coffee with my ex-husband, we didn’t sit together; me, unable to stomach how he would feel knowing about our past.
At home, you watched me undress, pull my hair up and step into the bathroom. When I took longer than usual, you knew what I was doing. I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me when you had the chance.
