please remember (to remember)

i remember the most subtle things…

like how his whole body would shake when he laughed- when he really laughed. or how effortlessly we’d stare at each other as the moon shone on us in our attic bedroom- neither of us saying a word. it didn’t ever matter how angry we were- we could be facing away from each other, even… but every night we’d sleep with our feet wrapped around one another’s. i used to watch him get coffee every morning, too… the way he’d dump some of it into the garbage, pour a whole bunch of cream in it, stir it quickly, put on the lid and press the back part of it down into the cup, take a sip and then woosh it around in his mouth before swallowing and licking his lips- i watched him meticulously every day, and it was always the same. i loved him then. despite everything he’d done and all the things he said… i would catch glimpses of the old him i knew that had never changed; just like my love for him.

he always ordered his eggs sunny-side up, he hated sleeping in, and never really enjoyed television. he cried a lot- always silently. we always kissed between sentences, no matter where we were- angry or not. we were that couple. he rode a motorcycle, he loved old trucks, and he was phenominal artist.

his hair was coffee brown, his eyes were black as night and his lips always had the most perfect tint of rose in them. he bit his lip when he was nervous, he tapped on his knees when he’d talk, and he always had the saddest look on his face- even when he’d smile. eerily enough, i loved that about him. his hands and feet were perfectly manicured. he’d always kiss my belly or grab my bum when i would shave his head. his neck smelled the same for six years. he loved the beach and the sun, he loved our dog, and he enjoyed nature. he had the shortest tongue… he could barely stick it out and he always made the funniest face when he’d try. his name is spelled in french, but only pronounced in english. i never met his father. he’d use surfer slang from the east coast like gnarly, and radical. i really liked his hand-writing, i used to smell his shirts before hanging them up, and his eyes always squinted when he’d look at me.

he loved when i wore red nail polish, he picked out my glasses, and he loved me in skate shoes. he was convinced we’d fall in love again in paris. he hates this city. he used play with my hair until i fell asleep, he’d watch me get dressed in the morning, and he always called me gorgeous. when i was sixteen, he’d leave love notes by the bed if he left before i did. we never showered apart, and he always washed my hair for me.

i once dropped my baby blanket while lugging my dirty laundry to his apartment, and he skateboarded around the neighbourhood until he found it, while i sobbed on the sidewalk.

another time he sent me a text message in the middle of the night saying “dress warm, i’ll be there in 5 minutes”. we walked to the park hand in hand and he laid out a blanket and a bunch of candles. he brought beer and a camera and we laid there for hours kissing by candle-light and taking pictures together.

he wouldn’t check up on me often, but when he did it was because he’d have this irrational fear that something awful had happened to me. and oddly enough, i did the same.

i always wore his hats and t-shirts around the house. sometimes he’d paint my nails, and he always dyed my hair for me. every once in awhile i’d wake up to him crying in the middle of the night- just looking at me- and every time i’d wake up and ask him what was wrong he’d sob and say “i love you too much” and “you’re too good for me”. we watched horror moves together in our underwear, he’d let me sit on his lap and do the crosswords in the morning while he drank his coffee, and he loved to read in bed. he let me pick out and sew his clothes. he built a half-pipe in his backyard. he had rough hands, he always kept loose change in his right pocket, and all of his jeans were ripped. every year for christmas we would decorate the tree at his mother’s house before coming home to make a gingerbread house together. he loved the beach boys. he loved laying together on our yellow tweed sofa just talking and listening to music. he bought our dog a misfits bandana. he gave the best hugs.

he preferred being alone.


5 thoughts on “please remember (to remember)

    • thanks pumpkin!

      the book is actually finished, i’m just waiting on funds to actually pull everything together. it’s a pricey project 😦

      plus, even though it’s done, i’ve written so much about him on this blog, that i almost want to add a bit of a post script with some of my favourite entries.

      it’ll never feel finished in my mind.


  1. Pingback: 2010 – a (super long) recap « elle

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