Tuesdays

I meant to tell you no wait… that isn’t right. I meant to… There was something like rain, except it wasn’t rain. It was the sound people make when they’re trying not to become someone else’s memory. No. That’s too dramatic. Forget I said that. There was a Tuesday. I’m almost certain. Or maybe blue. Blue was definitely involved. You were laughing, unless that was another year. I keep putting your face inside strangers. The cashier yesterday had your hands. That doesn’t make sense. Hands don’t look like people. I’m tired. Everything reminds me of things that don’t belong together. The kettle. Hospitals. Apricots. Obehagligt. I wish memory came with labels. I wish grief came with receipts. Listen. I know I’ve wandered. I was trying to tell you… See? There it goes again. Whatever it was kept slipping between words like soap. Maybe that’s why language was invented, to chase things that never wanted to be caught. Or maybe that’s wrong too. I’m sorry. I don’t remember how this ends. But if you happen to find the beginning, would you put it next to me?