Blue Shoes in Various Endearments

Nighttime makes nearly everyone melancholic. "Remembrance, like Rembrandt, is dark but festive." In the winter dark and in the chill from the bare and pretty iced window I'm annoyed because I've let myself start moping and missing wintertime Atticus. Tin and metal leaves, piles on the passenger seat, puzzles and the basement, Coldilocks, blue paint, red paint, fooling on the new red couch (what stain?), French press hot chocolate and fronds - you wanted and were determined to say - of foam, snow, the perfect tomahawk throw, "I like your blue shoes", one real hike, gobs of half hikes, you cried before I did during Frozen, "do you want to build a snowman","that waiter likes you", couldn't find that drawing, the perfect gloves, Daisy, karaoke, shots shots shots shots shots [that's a song?], left your shoes on in bed, cold picnic, all the flannel ever, coffee in tea bags [it's fucking nasty, dear], diner, another diner, another diner, coffeehotchocolate!, "I can't get up", did we just see that with my parents?, all those books, New Years incomplete (fucking Matthew), "dispensationalist?", "queer theory's an actual thing?", hello goodbye Chris, belly sledding, that was fun, never actually played chess with David, * Rocky Theme Song *, pretty new nautical bra!, newspaper chair, broken newspaper chair, carpet rolls, I won't do a cartwheel, stomp stomp stomp, kitchen dancing, that foot game, the always awful last night.

And then you loaded up the majority of my car in the morning and sent me off with raspberries, chocolate, coffee and a book on CD. Right now, I hate being up here, you darling darling, darling.