Ask you

I’m not sure if the memories are true,

Because I’ll never be able to ask you,

And that is what weakens me most.

To live them in my mind, and not yours, too,

Those stolen moments and dreams 

And wonderfully sweet things,

Can you remember those things, even in Heaven? 

I’d ask if I was right,

“Remember that one night!?”

And you’d frown and correct where I was wrong,

You’d remind me of a detail,

And I’d do the same,

Until a picture, painted, within a shared frame.

I’d tell you all the good things you’ve left with me,

And in curiosity, I’d ask if I’d also given you any. 

I’d like to hope, a few, but perhaps just one or two,

Is all you could remind me of from Heaven. 

If I see you again, I’ll say something witty (because that’s what I do when I’m nervous). I hope you will smile, and just sit for a while, to talk about life before pagers. 

(See? That’s kind of funny when you stop to think about when we had pagers and the time before pagers even...).  I’m still witty, you know. 

I have so many questions... 

Did you change your bank password, or did it stay the same?  Remember when we got similar ones? I still remember yours, you know... Remember the color of your walls? Do you remember the tiny Christmas tree? How about the very first Christmas present I gave you that you wore so thoughtfully.... and the puffy paint shirt I made.... and Let’s talk about freezing our asses off for just a minute.... oh, and can I just remind you of the fish I killed (I haven’t gotten any since because of that)... and the muffins.... and the smell of the tree... frozen Gatorade, and that one shoplifting incident...

It’s true... I have a lot of questions and things that could use some clarifying. 

Since you’ve been gone my mind’s been busy. 

And I find time for witty.

But most of all,

I miss knowing you’re in the world.