Last night, not only did I blackout, but I also made out with someone.  It’s been awhile since that’s happened, and since those events are this blog’s namesake, I’ll take that as a sign that a badass entry is coming soon.  Maybe. We’ll see.

Even if it doesn’t, at least I got to make out.

You still occupy 30% of my memory.

Your favorite Christmas carol is by Wham!

Your mother’s is “Same Auld Lang Syne”.

Your favorite color is orange.

When we went to the beach that summer, we ran back to the house because forgot something and instead of making out, we put couch pillows up our shirt and took pictures.

You made my grandmother laugh.

Both of them, actually.

The other day, when someone made a peace sign to say goodbye, my gut instinct was to make one and touch theirs.

But that’s crazy.

This is all so fucking crazy.

I saw Troy the other day. Troy who told me his grandmother was sick and he needed $30 to buy her meds.  So I gave him $30.  I saw him walking out of the Royersford Wawa- he held the door for me.

I didn’t say hi.

I saw him, but I haven’t seen you.

It always shocks me that I haven’t seen you yet. It’s been 3 years since I have- a year longer than we were together.  I live now in your hometown- the one you spoke so fondly of every time you put mine down.  I frequent places that I know you do as well. I imagine you in the other train car behind mine, leaving the Starbucks’ line just before I enter it, and getting on the El just before I get off.

I imagine the moment I do see you, hand in hand with your girlfriend (possibly fiancé now, I don’t keep up).  I know it’s coming- I don’t see you, but I feel you near me….your presence, in this city that you always seemed to own.

But, I don’t see you, probably because you’re just a man in a city of thousands, because if you saw me from a distance you would probably walk away, and because who the fuck am I kidding, you wouldn’t be caught dead on the El.

You wouldn’t even recognize me anymore.

At any given moment, I feel like I have all these poetic words bubbling right under the surface, yet when I put the pen to paper it all floats away and I’m left in my clumsy memories of you.