What I Remember You By

I remember you by your wristbands from Thailand. A couple of years old and all that was left from your once extensive collection that spanned your forearm. A crisscrossed mixture of blue, orange and possibly green. All these I know because you asked about mine - green hearts on blue that encircled my wrist; a nine year old friendship going on to forever. At that point I wished I had an extra one for you as a souvenir; it felt like an apt thing to do.

I remember you by your gorgeous slightly sad, sometimes uncertain smile, almost like you couldn't decide if you should savour the present or sigh at the inevitable parting of ways. This is great, is gonna end way too soon, don't wanna mess up the remaining time. It might have been a projection of mine but I find that hard to believe when it was written all over you, from the light in your eyes to the complementary magnetism to the inconvenience we worked around.

I remember you by the outstretched palm you offered me on that boozy lazy afternoon. Open, unassuming, hopeful, demanding. Beer in your other hand, on the floor, on the table, in my hand. How your fingers were longer than mine by an entire section and your palm still visible after mine covered yours.

I remember you by the tremulous voice cracked with slight disbelief and realization when you said, word for word, the exact sentence I was thinking at that moment. Then it was my turn to be in complete disbelief at that freaky telepathy.

But most of all I remember you by the collective memory of the little things that enhanced the idea of you, not you. Crinkled eye corners, giggly laughs, nerdy preferences, laugh lines, chivalry, incredible perceptiveness, and passion so deep it left a crater-sized impression.