Nobody ever speaks of the little things. What about the little things? The mole on my neck you took for keeps; the perfect bow of your lips I called dibs on? Who do those parts of us belong to now? Is it possible to give away something twice? Would I even want to?
With you gone I am beginning to see new things. I’ve seen entire cities go missing on a map. I see lovers give themselves away for less than love. I see that people don’t need to die to haunt you.
Little by little, everything that I once made yours has begun to unname itself. Beer is just a beverage. Drives are distances from A to B. Passion is a fruit. And the rain is now simply rain. Water falling from the sky; a precipitating nuisance without gumboots and an umbrella.
Would you believe me if I told you that every word I wrote was true?
That once she existed. And she loved me. And so did I.