It's hard telling what triggers memories sometimes.  A smell, a taste, a song, an image, a few words, a gesture... There are those memories that make you want to tell a story.  And then there are those memories that are so strong they pull you into the past and it's all you can do to hold on to the roller coaster ride.

From stoop to stoop, I remember every step of the trip.  The various smiles, laughs, and accents.  The parade of green suits.  The six short hours.  The fresh stamp on the smooth paper.  That smile...

I can still feel the wood floor flex under my bare feet.  I can still smell the cool morning air pouring through the bedroom window.  I can see my suitcase by the door with my shoes on the floor with me wondering if there's going to be a morning after, because I couldn't tell if I was living or dreaming those days.  The hair on my arms stands up like it did right before I ended up with a phone that wouldn't ring anymore.

And then, *poof*, just like that, I'm back at the airport wondering should I stay or should I go.

Part of me stayed.

Part of me always stays...

Today was the first day I'd been on those roads without her.  Before the times with her, I'd never been to any of those places.  Just another of the many things she brought into my life to make it that much sweeter.  Now, I get that knot in my stomach as I head across the extension crossing the bridge into the far county then bending and twisting through the country-side before reach any one of the more than half-a-dozen places we enjoyed there together.

I try not to think of her absence, but it's impossible.  I recall the conversations we had along the drive.  I taste the same tastes.  There's music and people dancing, but, this time, not us.  I see a couple sneak off from the crowds and disappear behind the same hill we did the first time went searching for the green sign.

On the way home I can see the stacks in the distance.  The view brings more old conversations to mind, and those thoughts of even more things I had hoped we do together, but never will.  I make a quick stop to pick up a couple of our favorites.  Some of the faces look familiar, but are unknown to me.  I doubt they recognize me, especially without her there.

I coast down that steep hill and continue home.  A quick moment later and I'm surrounded in more memories.  One of the oldest between us, we weren't even 24 hours into each other when we traveled down that trail.

It's hard to know what to do these days.  There are so few things that don't remind me of something we did or planned to do.  Everyone tells me to get out and stay busy, but where do I go?  She is everywhere and nowhere.  Another ghost, another dream, unrealized...

I honestly had no idea which way things were going to go when the time finally came for those last words.  Looking back, that's how many of our moments went.  Maybe if we both owned mood rings I'd be curled up on your couch enjoying the warmth of that smile instead of trying to touch your heart through words you'll probably never read.  It's almost a metaphor for our relationship, this blog of mine.  The things I worked the hardest at to try and show you how special I think you are and how much I love you never even catch your eye.  I searched for that signal flare for so long, but ultimately failed.  Flirting felt like criticism, caring like distrust, and the one thing that seemed to always bring the walls down between us always left you with fuzzy memories that scared you more than they intrigued.

If I knew it wouldn't work out between you and I before we were together, would I have done it?

I wouldn't trade our time for anything.  It's all we are - the sum of our experiences.

Besides, some of the best things in life are total mistakes.

I know you don't agree - and honestly, you're right not to - but I think there are plenty more mistakes we should be making together.

Besides, I know that every time I kiss you you know I'm your favorite mistake.

It's amazing to me that years later I still find little hidden things left by my friends and loved ones.  Last year I was going through a sketch book and found a couple drawings Faye did while I was asleep one night.  She placed them in the middle of the book apart from anything else.  It's been years since I've seen her, but still, she is showing me new things.  A few days ago I peeled a post-it note from the stack and found a message in her handwriting in the stack.  Things like that but the biggest smiles on my face.

It doesn't even have to be years later.  It could be weeks, days, hours, even minutes after someone left your place.  When you weren't looking they hurried up and scratched little hearts around your name on a scratch paper on your desk knowing that you would stumble upon it later.  There's just something about people planning - even if it is mischief - to touch your life when they aren't there.

It's been a week, and hearing those words replay in my head still make me stop for a moment.

"She struggled with it for years, and finally just went ahead and got married."

I thought that I might see her family that weekend.  Actually, I had hoped.  In those days, they all meant so much to me.  I still carry parts of them around with me.  It had been so many years since I spoke to any of them, but just like all the good ones, we picked up right where we left.  Hugs, details, pictures... Those things I expected.

What I didn't expect was to be shaken so deeply.

We met very early in life.  But as early as it was, we were amazed by the bond that formed.  Everyone was amazed... People had always said that the two of us were going to be wed some day.  Even after splitting up and dating others, everyone still said that in the end, it would be her and I.

She set the bar by which all those who came after have been measured by.

Very few have even grazed the bottom of the top since those days.  Those days mean so much to me that I rarely even whisper a word about them for fear of letting the issues of the present tarnish the past.  It was all so pure, so innocent.  It was before problems and unrealized dreams and fake realities.  There was no need for an alternate reality in those days.

We lived the dreams.

So what started as a fond memory kept to myself like some treasure has ended in another "what if".  Breaking the "no regrets" rule always leads to half its name.  What if I just would have picked up the phone?  Would our common struggle have come to a common end?  We were standing on opposite sides of the same door both longing for what was on the other side, but at the same time, both scared to turn the key.

Je suis la et ailleurs.
Je ne dors plus.
Kyrie eleison.
Christe eleison.

Mea culpa...