I think of him at odd, unexpected moments. Reaching for a paper towel in the kitchen, turning the key in the lock as I'm leaving, drinking wine in a crowded room and suddenly feeling melancholy and alone. Honestly these are not the moments you might assume like eating at the salsa bar or driving by the museum every day or realizing I'm wearing his old sweatshirt. It's the day to day, while doing simple things, when suddenly it hits me in a flash and I feel like I want to cry. I've long since mourned the distant past and I'm o.k. with that. I'm o.k. with this.

But I miss the daily chats and the inside jokes and the silly things that no one else would understand. I didn't think I was the only one our friendship meant something to but the days pass and we don't speak and I'm not sure why. I hate how he's slipping away from me and I hate how I pick up the phone when I want to share something and it just rings and rings forever. Three years is a long time to be so insignificant. Mostly I hate how most of the time I am perfectly fine and barely give any of it a passing thought, like it doesn't matter and I am forgetting.  ¶ 4:02 PM