In the first memory of you, you're cheering me on as I sit on the bed at eye level from you with a kale shake in my hand. Holding the cup in my hand, I tried to twirl the bottom of the cup to stir up the gritty contents, but they don't move. You look at me and tell me to just chug it. I don't chug. I don't want to drink this. You stand there until I finish the entire cup, smiling at me when I was done, going off in endless, passionate speech about how it is important we eat things that we don't necessarily like because they contain supreme nutritional content.
In the memory my brain is most fond of, you took my breath away as I lay on your carpet. The passion overwhelmed my senses and nothing mattered but you and I. Maybe it was the night we stayed up far too late and watched 'A Night in Paris,' or when we sat there and watched RSD videos and absolutely anything else we wanted. At first, the idea of you replaying one line in a video was irritating. Then I stopped letting it get to me so much that I realized with each time you rewinded the video, you laughed a little bit harder, a little bit longer, and I couldn't refrain from watching you. Too bad I realized this too late.
The memory in which I do not care for is the position in which we are now left in, as it is change, and people have a hard fucking time dealing with change. You said that yourself. And now, I'm sitting here being forced to figure out why I couldn't even get a goodbye.
