unsent letter

The Orbital Nature of Remembering

B,

I miss you. My memory used to be really bad back then, because of everything I was putting my body through but it’s all coming back now. The remembering.

I’ll be sitting down, eating dinner or reading a book, and it hits me in the gut. Not like a thought but more like something physical.

Just because something doesn’t include suffering doesn’t mean it isn’t worth your while.

Do you understand what I mean by that, B? I think you do. You’ve never been very kind to yourself. To others, yes, but to yourself, you always fell short.

We don’t talk about serious things like that anymore. But the last time I was over, I saw the pill bottles on the counter. It made me feel small. Like a child seeing something they weren’t supposed to.

Anyway—

I even miss that dimly lit, smoky bar we’d find ourselves in every Tuesday and Thursday night. Huddled into some random booth in the corner, the rest of the world feeling galaxies away. Pressed up against the windowsill, the blur of lights outside turning us into silhouettes.

It was like someone pressed fast forward on time. Before we ever knew it, we were being kicked out “Closing Time” playing loudly over the speakers, as if anyone drunk would make the connection that it was time to go home.

I miss you so much I’ve resorted to sending you a letter instead of a text message, because somehow that feels safer. Like maybe it’ll get lost in the mail, or arrive a month late and by then I’ll have forgotten everything I wrote.

I’ve been having dreams about you. They follow me into the day, replaying in that way that’s less visual and more like a feeling. Something that settles deep in the pit of my stomach.

I feel homesick for you. Even though we aren’t like that anymore.