I Miss Our Talks

Hey Craiggie,

It's just me again.

I don't know how to reach you. Still.

I'd talk but it mostly just feels like talking to the air. Writing seems more concrete. I hope you get my messages anyhow.

I still need to talk to you, every day. It's almost been a year, Craig, and still, still I want to tell you about my day. Remember when you'd pick me up from work? We'd have to time it just right so you wouldn't get a ticket for parking illegally and so I wouldn't have to wait more than 10 seconds because I was always dressed innapropriately for the weather. 13 years in Calgary and I still haven't figured out the right clothing-to-weather ratio.

Then I'd talk your head off the whole way home. Sometimes I'd have to change my outfit in the car because I hated wearing work clothes out to the movies or dinner or anywhere else. You'd be cracking up and grabbing my leg or bum while I was trying not to giggle or let some random pedestrian see I was stripping in a moving vehicle.

Or in the mornings, over coffee. You hated mornings. I didn't. But you'd sit there, wrapped in blankets like an overstuffed coccoon, just sipping your coffee patiently while I yammered on. I miss our mornings. I drink tea now. I don't like coffee anymore. It's too much like us. And I surf the web while I drink. Sometimes I turn the t.v. on so it feels like someone is there. But sometimes I just like to feel alone.

Most days you'd come home from work and I'd be cooking dinner. Our little kitchen that always felt two feet too small. I hate other people in my kitchen. But not you. You'd sneak up behind me and grab me and I'd yell at you not to spill anything or get burned. But I'd still be laughing. Then you'd sit at the counter all earnestly and demand I do a cooking show for you. I'd start out with insructions on how to properly saute mushrooms and would end up disecting the psychology of bosses who micromanage all day. You'd just sit and listen, sipping out of your Transformers cup, looking like an overgrown kid.

I miss our talks.

Even though it was mostly me talking and you pretty much just listened. You always were a good listener. Did I ever tell you I loved that about you? I hope so.

I wish we could talk just one more time.

Just one more.

I have so much to ask.

This time, I think I'd be the one mostly listening.