He said it. No, she did.

I wear new cologne these days. You never smelled it. Of course I thought of you when I discovered and bought it, wondering if you would like it too. I remember how much you loved the old one on me. I saw a photo of you wearing new sunglasses and I have to say I didn’t like them much. Way too showy; they don’t do justice to your wonderful face. The small things, these details, the minutiae of our days and hours. We pay so little attention to them when they’re ours. But then they weigh so heavily on us when they’re gone. We miss them so.

Two new words I discovered the other day — captious, indolence. I wanted to give them to you. But then I smiled thinking you probably knew them already. Terry once said we need a person to share the trivia of our days with. Someone who truly gets us and how we function; someone who willingly accepts our daily download. Even small stuff like cologne and sunglasses. Small and large things, light and heavy. When you’re really lucky, that person listens hard because your words — whether light or heavy — really do matter to them and their life.

It’s been so long since we saw each other. Ironically it’s easy enough to find you with the internet and all. But sometimes finding the you who looks so different in things like new wrong sunglasses breaks my heart, so I don’t do it often.

Do you?

from a work in progress