I still have this photo. That was a good seven days.
Has this happened to you? Images from our time together seem to pass through a veil. Where do they go? That beautiful one of young intense you down by the river on a sunny winter day.
We both lived at an equal radius in the opposite direction of one subway station. We could draw a circle with a compass. Notice, I found a way to bring math into it.
After the split, our paths never crossed. Not once.
That’s how we knew.
You were well-dressed and liked movies as much as I do—music too. It was nice looking for a song for this.
Under pressure you got calm and gracious. Your tough and gentle mix was on balance.
There was a lot to love about you. Your mind top of the list.
And you loved my smarts too. It was a revelation and a massive relief from most of the rest of my life.
You looked at me like I was new and exciting. We laughed so hard.
Remember the night we were sitting on a park bench on the shores of Georgian Bay. You told me I looked beautiful in the moonlight. I could feel your heart. Thank you for holding that mirror up to me.
I have one piece of you. The last thing you sent me. An act of incredible intimacy and a reminder of a man's capacity for love.
In the early days, you planted a joke from the Simpsons as a kind of test. Told me you knew when I laughed I was right for you.
At any rate.
If I met you on the street, my eyes—the colour of tropical water—would sparkle.
I hope the whole world shines down on you. Always.
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