i remember the way you fell asleep like that, and so did i, and how still we stayed for hours, until it was time to leave.

and i remember how that sleep was good. deep and solid.

filled with happiness, as dumb as that sounds now.

i remember being on our backs on the picnic table in that park, with the trees above us moving slowly, dappling us in light and shadow, and how it put me into a drowsy near sleep. you, there, next to me, i think, might have been asleep.

it was my birthday, two years ago. remember?

and the one thing i had wanted, the only thing, was to spend a whole day with you, a complete 24 hours.

i wanted to know what it would be like.

to have breakfast across from you, to eat lunch in the same restuarant, to cook dinner together.

with you.

it didn't go off as well as we'd hope. or planned.

it was your mom, of course.

remember?

i thought we were over then, and my heart was ripping apart in my chest, thinking it was done, it was over.

and i could still remember your body against mine, your hand in mine, your laughter, there.

i remember where we were sitting, too, in that theater.

i remember a lot of things.

the mole on your inner thigh.

the scar on your shoulder.

the way you talked in your sleep, talked about grapes and audrey and hamburgers and the horses.