Breakups have a way of reminding me how beautiful life can be, and sad. I wish it could have been you, rhetorically at least, in a parallel life, one a lot like this one. It's just that it wasn't. Now, we're on the other side.

The last time I saw you, you were wearing sunglasses and eating a hot dog, or maybe soft ice cream. Everything seemed incongruous, but especially your indifference.

When we were young, you followed close behind me and held on to my shirt. It turned out the body was just a giant stuffed panda. We sent styrofoam flying, everywhere.

You called me to come help calm Bismarck, and I fed him treats until his mouth went dry, spittle lacing his jowls. A neighbor had to come and introduce me. You have such a beautiful face.

One time you dreamed we made quesadillas on a terra cotta floor. So, for our first date, we bought tortillas, cheese, and avocados. You walked around the grocery with your hands in your pockets, an image that makes me giggle.

It's a cliché, I know, to say I wish things had turned out differently, but I wish it still. I will never forget you, baby, I promise.