remembering

This week I found out an old boyfriend of mine died last year. I hadn’t seen him for a while, and we had no shared friends, so I found out through facebook, of all things. It’s an odd thing to have known someone well, and then spent a whole year thinking they were alive when they weren’t. 

My memories of that time are sketchy. 

I remember meeting you on a sunny day. You made me dinner and carved a tomato into a heart shape.

A spider ran across the bed. I remember you telling me you’d put it out of the window. I knew you were lying.

I remember playing trivial pursuit in our flat with the horrid pink leather sofa. The games were long – both of us were rubbish at general knowledge. I remember spending time in the video shop, but I don’t remember anything we watched. We ate out a lot, but I only remember one restaurant. I don’t know what we talked about when we were at home.

I have a picture of you feeding some geese, but I don’t remember taking it, or where we were.

We kept in touch for a while, then drifted apart. I know now that you were engaged to someone else.

I told you I’d finally finished my PhD. I thought it would make you laugh, since you were there at the start and thought it would go on forever. You never replied. I hope you laughed anyway.

You told me the song you wanted at your funeral. I never told anyone else – did you?

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