everything reminds me of you
neighbourhoods, tea, tahini
my own bed, couples in love
cooking ambitiously, cars, coffee 
dogs being walked, dogs in coats
books, certain sitting positions
yoga, kale salad, mayonaise
couples holding hands, kissing
the weather, riding my bicycle
reading, watching television
my cats, somehow, going to bed
brushing my teeth, waking up
going to sleep, decaf, desert
landscapes, landscapes, news-
print, talking to everyone I know,
places I’ve never been, places I’m
visiting for only the second time
movies that were just released
empty rooms, curtains, the snow
when the weather changes for the
better and it is spring, suddenly,
telephone conversations, dusk
early morning, sunlight, wind
showers, birthday cake, mirrors
toothbrushes and toothpaste
getting undressed at the end
of the night, the i Ching, tarot
drinking certain wines, a certain
slurred way of speaking when
one is tired, the movie Roma
the movie Little Women, Greta’s,
only just released, dancing, t-shirts,
white, and t-shirts, blue and torn
orange light reflecting off the tops
of residential buildings, light
passing through windows, cast
against walls, mirrors, straight
handlebars on elegant bicycles,
almond milk, five percent cream
and ten, kasha, sidewalks, puddles,
chapped lips, fogged glasses,
long drives, wines, looking far away,
listening to music, not listening,
the woods, the future, getting excited
making plans, doing yoga, not doing yoga,
throwing a ball, throwing a frisbee,
wanting to argue, not wanting to,
lying on a couch, dinosaur toys,
instant coffee, elaborate pancakes
(an assortment), talking to children,
not talking to them, reading,
not reading (even not reading),
falafels, Portuguese egg tarts,
burgers, not eating burgers—
never eating them, the fall, leaves
changing, not changing, despair,
love, songs neither of us have ever heard,
corn chips, smoothies, therapy,
leaning, not leaning, pulling,
pushing—it’s hard to not think
of you, to imagine a life where
we are not in contact in some way,
where remembering is an act of will
rather than simply proceeding
through life, seeing you wherever
I look. but I’m also worried 
according to the fear of Socrates
who trusted memory and distrusted 
books, that in writing this all down
I will forget where it came from
until all that remains is an empty
list, no longer populated. no longer
meaningful, or alive. so I’ll stop.

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