Why is it always the small things that you remember during those odd little moments in conversation or times of happenstance, when everything else has blurred around the edges and lost its intensity. Ive forgotten the way he smelled, the exact shade of his hair, those little phrases he always loved and thought made him sound so smart, the way he always had to be in charge, how he was never wrong. Even his obsession with home improvement shows has lost its impact when I flip through the channels late at night.
Instead its those smaller things that still linger, dormant, but just until I stumble over any one of hundreds of keys.
I walked into an empty elevator one day and as the doors closed it was like Id been wrapped in him all over again. I cursed and breathed through my mouth but it didnt help. I could taste it. Taste him. And suddenly I remembered how we would lie in bed with the window above us open to the warm sunlight. Mostly naked, hed lie on top of