It’s so stupid sometimes, the things I remember. Things that come out of nowhere and hit me – memories – like bricks, or like blades. Either way, usually when they’re about you, they’re painful.
I haven’t gotten quite to that point yet where it doesn’t hurt a little bit to think about you.
Today it was a conversation that we were having on your yellow couch.
“What are we going to do today?”
“It’s so hot.”
I don’t remember all of the options, but there was the beach, and there was picking strawberries, and there was bowling, though the bowling was more of a joke suggestion.
We ended up going to Providence that day.
And isn’t it strange that I can remember all this in the first place? This was a day six or seven years ago, it was one short conversation about what we were going to do with our shared day off.
We ended up going to Providence that day, but I can’t stop thinking about the strawberries.
The ones we didn’t pick.
The ones we will never, ever pick.