I learned how to make paper boats when you were not with me on the first rainfall of the year. I remember. I spent my entire evening and then very meticulously measuring them into squares in triangles in a little paper boat. I went downstairs and tried to get my boats to float in the muddy water. I thought of you and I called you later and told you all about it but it’s funny that these things never work out the way you expect them too. The paper soaked up all in the water and my boat, it sank before it got the chance to wonder. No, I didn’t tell you that.
We all learned about respiration in biology and I wrote you a letter on a coral paper; “To... the girl with the most beautiful accent”. I tore it up in four equal parts so that you could keep one piece in each chamber of your heart. I thought maybe every time you take a deep breath you could break down the sentences into words that you could converts each letter into energy that would come out through your nose and your mouth in your breath as I love you! I was never good at biology; I was just interested in matters of the heart.
Do you remember the days where we picked the road not taken and ended up somewhere we didn’t know but was exactly where we wanted to be trying to get as lost as we possibly could because the longer it takes us to find our way back the more time we would get each other’s company?
I remember our last evening when we fought and I walked away from you and I found myself all alone for a while and then I saw you coming toward me closer with the passage of time. This world, it always brought me back to you.
You don’t like the idea of perfection. You don’t like the idea of how love should be. I remember; do you? I like thinking that I was what you thought I was too. So, I always sat a little straighter and take smaller bites. I like that we met in the evening because my face was less detailed in the fuzzy evening. Words also would get stuck in my throat a lot as I thought they weren’t interesting when they are halfway out. I thought they weren’t funny enough and I didn’t want to make a joke that you didn’t laugh at.
And when you were gone, the whole place seemed so much bigger than it had a few hours earlier. “The universe is constantly expanding.” – It made sense for the first time.
I asked myself halfway through writing that why I was doing it? Maybe because I've always written you a letter in my head and it's muscle memory now. Maybe it's because they say habits die hard and you are my first...habit!
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