False expectations.

I'm sorry I was never able to see you as clearly as I should have.

my infinite playlist of minor personal dramas got in the way.

And maybe, because of this I only really was able to appreciate the idea of you,

and the versions of your past I could imagine were dusted with a thin layer of falsely imposed ideals.


Many months have passed and I appreciate how your memories have seeped into my own
and tangled up with the memories in which we both existed and the ones we only imagined together.

a tea cup; you were a baby.
washing dishes in the hot hot water with the yellow tiles
white lillies and stacks of books
every heavy crease of the page; your fingers
Showers at night and in the morning
salty skin and sunshine; ages 9-12
your morning drama
milk glass
every stitch; your birthday card