I don’t think about you much any more. When I do it is with a distance that feels more like true neutrality than scar tissue. It’s amazing to be at this point. Or rather, from this point, it’s amazing to think that I was at that other point. That other point where I though about you constantly. The way it felt for years that it was your eyes looking at my reflection in the mirror. How sometimes it felt like all the topics I brought up to strangers were things you had introduced me to. And then the last years of it. Where the searing voice of your criticism would enter me when I was trying to do anything. When my thoughts were fighting with you on a 24-hour loop.
Still, the video of us in Thailand was the hardest to delete in this last mad dash purge of scrapping all the half-assed footage I’ve collected on my phone over the past two years. It is from our last day. We both know I am leaving the next morning. You know we won’t talk again. I don’t know this yet. I want to buy a hot pink plastic selfie stick and you make fun of me for not knowing how to use it. You take it from my hands and spin it around. I come from behind and hug you.
This is the whole thing.
I will go home and cry and rage and pick over analyzing. You will retreat into unknown territory to do unknown things. And how crazy it seems, looking from this place across that vast expanse of so many years, that any of it ever happened at all.