How I want you to remember me:
In the crook of your arm when you’re wrapping your arms around your pillow because you can’t fall asleep at night. The blankets are too hot and you kick them off your body as everything sticks to your skin. Remember me resting a hand on your back so I know you didn’t stray too far.
In your morning coffee while you try to wipe away the sleep from your eyes and wonder what time you finally fell asleep. You’ll put in too much milk because that’s how I made mine and you’ll wonder why I drank coffee when I poured so much milk in. Remember me smiling over my mug and blushing as you look at me.
In the early light of day, right after your alarm goes off. When you roll over to turn off the beeping and see the light creeping through the blinds. Remember me hiding beneath the duvet to try to grasp the last bit of sleep.
On the couch in your parents’ house where you accidentally told me you loved me and I whispered back that I loved you too. Remember me standing up too fast, giggling down the hallway and stubbing my toe against the door frame. Remember me cursing. Remember me limping for the rest of the night.
Remember my laughter as you would say something to make me feel better. Remember all of our jokes. Remember my hand somehow always finding yours. Remember. Remember. Remember.