Amalgamation

by | Aug 5, 2010 | 0 comments

I want to picture you as you were- right before you left.

The day before we went to Van Saun Park with Audrey- took turns riding the carousel with her- she rode on the bunny with you – then on the horse with me.
We all rode on the little train together.
Then we went to the dentist so you could get your teeth cleaned before you left. Ha.
I want to remember you as I knew you last- not that long ago.
But instead, I find I remember an amalgamation of you- of you at all of those different ages I knew you- I see you at 22…and 25. I see you with short hair and long hair. I see you pure and child-like, and then bitter and world-weary.
I am scared that it’s making me forget you as you- in the present- but I think it’s happening because you do not exist as I knew you in the present anymore.
It reminds me of when I first met you- I’ve never been good at remembering faces- but I really wanted to remember yours because I already loved it. We went for a walk to Bethesda Foundation in Central Park- and while we sat on the edge, you let me tear off one of those little stickers you had made of yourself in one of those sticker photo booths. I was so happy to have it and take it home with me. In the background was the S from the Superman logo, and I thought you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

JAC

August 5, 2010
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