And here we are, two years on, this soft middle between February and December.
Part of me aches for the cuts in December: your birthday, the last time I told you about a career win, morning coffee and theplas. Leaving you lunch in hopes that you'd finish it. Adalaj, leaving you on the 24th of December. How has it been so long since then already?
And part of me just wants it to be February again: you asking if I'd come see you, rewind time and just say yes. The squish of blanket yarn between my fingers the strongest sense memory of that time. Lifting out of my body at the airport Starbucks, never knowing if that was a night of texting with your doctors. That nameless voice using the word sensorium.
How is it so far from these things and still only March? It feels like so, so long since the last time I sliced my heart open on a memory of my father. This muffled missing, like a hole being covered over, yet always there. One part of me wants to fall in. One part of me wants a dream where we talk. One part of me wishes I'd said yes, I'm getting on the next plane. Something that gets me from here to there, from February back to December.
