Do you think of me?

Burgundy pebble stone-paved, medium-size streets. The crisp colours of ashy brown, black, yellow, orange, everything leaves. I sigh a sigh of relief. Of contentment. I’m here. With you. You’re far but you’re actually here. I’m not sure how I feel your presence without your physical body. Trust me; I’ve wondered, questioned, remained curious. To no avail. I don’t care. I’m selfish. I don’t want to research these feelings. Find any semblance of an explanation for how on earth you make me feel the way you do. You just do. And it’s enough for me. More than enough. I consider myself greedy for even thinking of you sometimes. How dare I have you all to myself? I sit down on a bench, the park where we spoke. Over the phone of course. I bask in your love. Even when you don’t give it anymore. Especially when you don’t give it anymore. And I wonder – do you think of me?

One comment

  1. I don’t believe anyone can stop thinking about someone she or he used to love. Even during sex with a new lover I believe men and women fantasize with their ex, especially if the old sex was better than the new. I’m older now, and still I could name and describe every women with whom I had sex. This couldn’t have happened if I hadn’t reminisced about esch of the during quiet periods of self-reflection. Hugs, Rich

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