Sometimes I still think about learning Italian even though I’d have no use for it, simply because you tried to teach me back when we were still together.
Every time I drink a Guinness, I thank you in my mind for helping me appreciate it, even though almost nobody else does.
I see photographs of long forgotten urban landscapes, and see you there, with your camera, capturing it all, no matter who the actual photographer is.
I talk to people with an accent similar to your own, and compare their annunciation to yours, then separate them according to location accordingly.
I wonder at times if the reason you called it done is because I was so angry with you for not considering yourself and your own well-being that night; all the while seeing the irony in the fact that every night since I’ve cared for myself even less.
You said you’d planned to come to visit, and it just so happened to be the week I was traveling a few states west. I said I’d stay; I’d rather be with you- you said don’t hold back, you wouldn’t be coming. Were you ever planning to come at all?
In the end, you said it was all nothing more than a dream, but I sometimes I wonder if it was ever ours or just mine all along.
Take care D;