At dinner last night, we talked a little about a lot of things. I fear I did most of the chatting, but that should surprise no one. Your name came up, referentially, after the question of my involvement with a mutual friend. The truth of the matter is I think of you often, and am asked about you.
The truth of the matter is that I don’t know what to say any longer. It was so long ago, but it’s as painful as if it were just last week. I think it’s still painful because you still carry so much of it. Not that I don’t, but you still seem so wounded.
Your words tumble from the pages of our past, and I struggle to remember the happy times. The good times. Our laughter, our joy. The light in your eyes when you laughed; the way that laughter shook your whole body. The way you kissed me, and the scent of you.
I wish it hadn’t ended with so much brokenness.