it happens sometimes when i’m not paying attention. memories creep in from distant places. the smell of Chapel Street early this morning; steady rain on the windows after the sun goes down; Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea from the ipod on shuffle; tu me manques on the tv. bystander details from an innocent June day saturating all the photos i didn’t save or never took.

in my head i found you there and
running around and following me

it may not be much of an image, sometimes not even a face. sometimes it’s just a presence filling the space like in a dream where a stranger is pictured but you recognize them as someone you know in real life. sometimes it’s just a name written in someone’s particular script in the air in front of me.

but they’re there, and they don’t notice me. and of course that’s all i want. i want them to look up from their faraway lives and say hi.

that’s why i’m writing, of course.

i want them to remember me like i sometimes remember them. that ride home from the Valley, that photo taken on the Turnpike, that storm over Seaside Park.

but i suppose the best i can do is wave to them from here, whether anyone is looking or not.

i haven’t forgotten you, and i don’t think i ever will.

baker baker baking a cake
make me a day
make me whole again
and i wonder if he’s ok
if you see him say hi

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