I met you at some kind of a party. I guess I was younger than I am now. But it kind of feels like I was timeless somehow, and it was all we never wanted, and it was all there ever was, and it was all there ever would be. You were wearing my shirt the next morning, and I was wearing your story. You had your fingers in my hair and I got fucked up on the way you talked about the sky. You said I was a good listener, but the truth is I couldn’t speak. All I wanted was to take mental pictures of how you made me feel.

Tonight, after all these years, I sit here gathering those memories. The memories that are a bit of thunder, some raindrops, a dead ship at the bottom of the ocean, and an abandoned little cabin with coffee cups all over its worn-out table.

I was going to ask Chat GPT to write the first few lines for me, but the AI didn’t wouldn’t your sighs and the whispers to breathe life into my draft. I’d rather have you at the end of my every sentence. Sitting there cross-legged and owning it; blowing out little rings of smoke to blur every other woman attempting to fall in love with these words.