I hope it doesn’t remind you of me

The other day I was watching the television and this scene came up.

It triggered a memory I had of you. Of us. When we used to walk together. You did the exact same thing with me, it was a tiny gesture. You hated PDA as much as I did. And we were walking on the street in broad daylight. But your tiny action, this tiny assurance that you are there, you are there with me to convince me even though I never asked for any of it, you wanted me to feel connected, you wanted me to know you were thinking of me even when we were out there in the broad daylight in front of all these people, people you always shied away from and now you had to walk alongside me.

But there you should me affection in a way that I have never known. Our hands kept touching while we were walking and I felt it, and I didn’t know if you felt the nearness but then you did something and I knew.

You curled your pinky finger into mine, and you held me like that.

This was happiness. If I have to define it. This was what happiness looked like.

And now you must think it was all delusional too. Of me. That it was all in my mind. Except it wasn’t.

Why am I bringing this up today?

This scene triggered this strong memory for me and I wondered if you ever get to relive any with me?

Does a loud laugh serve as a chilling reminder of me?

Are you scared to look when you catch a whiff of my perfume?

Do you avoid those streets now where we once walked?

If you could, would you also burn that tree underneath which you never could gather enough strength to tell me this was the last time?

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