I remember

07/03/16
19:49

My stomach hurts. Like crazy. Reminds me of you and your stomach troubles.
Reminds me of how you don't eat bread with tea; how you won't touch regular biscuits. 

I remember how careful you are with eggs in the kitchen...how you meticulously crack them open and quickly put the shells in a nylon and dispose of them.
It will always be hilarious to me...this strange reaction you have to the smell of eggs.

I remember how you would fuss over how easily you get sunburnt... or how sensitive your feet are to wet shoes, wet sandals, slippers, floors, everything.

I remember how you'd be happy as a lark one minute, and then before I knew it, a dark cloud would descend over your head.
I remember feeling powerless and helpless whenever this happened... how I ached to take away all your troubles... but I could only do so much.

I remember watching you gesticulate while you talked, waving your hands in the air and making awkward signs with your fingers... completely oblivious to how stupidly adorable it was.

I remember listening to you sing. No, you weren't Mariah Carey...lol...but who cared? You certainly didn't.
You'd sing Mario's "I choose you", snapping your fingers and swinging your long hair to the beat which only existed in your head.

I remember those evening strolls...how we'd shun the cabs and walk instead, talking and listening to each other... leaping over muddy patches and carefully dodging other trekkers who I'd somehow fail to notice until they were within two feet of us.

It hurts to remember, because while these happy memories bring happy, nostalgic feelings, pain also seeks attention... pain demands to be felt.
I remember those clipped sentences between us...those long, painful periods of silence, which used to be peaceful and beautiful, but had evolved into a feverish tempest, tearing us apart and wreaking havoc in my head.

I remember the harsh words and spiteful stares...the dismissive sighs and "fuck it" gesticulations.
I remember sinking into an awful emotional abyss...screaming for help but sounding like a dog whistle...no one heard.
I remember watching the dam break and bottled-up emotion spill, experiencing the untameable rush of built-up tension.

It's pretty sad that the dude is expected to brush it off, say "screw it", drink a beer and move on...I guess I'm not molded with clay from society's earth...maybe I'm of a different material, or out of whack and in need of urgent psych attention, because I remember.
And I'm in no hurry to forget...I have a lot to learn.