I Want to Tell you These Things

I want to tell you that the chimney here at my Dads, caught on fire the day after we closed our doors. You used to be a firefighter. You would have known just what to do.

I want to tell you that I looked for the Easter Hat you made last year for Z. And that I couldn’t find it, no matter where I looked.

I want to tell you how badly I want a doggy like the one we bought together.
I want to tell you how much you taught me.
To tell you that when I openened my chocoalate yesterday, a piece of chocolate shot up and hit me in the eyebrow.
I want to tell you that I have a cardinal clipped to my desk. Your favourite bird.

I want to say that I go in waves of happy and of sad. That I get bold with my confidence, telling myself,” I’ll find someone else, I’ll find someone else’. And then get whooshed into a whelmy sadness ocean,’ you were everything, you were everything I needed.’

I want to tell you that I didn’t do the big thing that you think I did. You won’t believe me, but everyday, I want to tell you that. 
I want to tell you that I finally finished reading the book I got from the librairy with you in October last year.
I want to tell you that I’ve stuffed all my lingere in the back of my bottom dresser drawer and as I put them in there I said outloud, ‘ won’t be needing these anymore- not until you want me back’.

I want to tell you that the visual of your eyes is locked into my head and it pummels up my heart sometimes and pops out of my eyes.

I want to tell you that I still am very close to you. That you’re with me everywhere I go.
I want to tell you all these things you wouldn’t believe, but that are the beautiful gut truth.

I want to tell you that the shirt you gave me that last day, is now in a plastic ziplock bag beside my bed and I smell it everyday. It is the last thing I smell before I go to sleep.

I want to tell you that I keep looking for your truck to pass by my work.
I want to tell you that I took a picture of your license plate the day I dropped it off at the repair shop. So if ever there was a look alike truck, I’d be able to tell it was you.
I want to tell you that I walked by the tree we climbed together on our first hangout. And cried.
And laughed.
At the same time.

I want to tell you what Z says about you and how it always makes me tear up.

I want to tell you that my heart is full of you. That looking for anyone else is so far from what I want to do or am in the position to do.

I want to tell you that I have a 400 dollar ring on my dresser I bought in February for you. I want to tell you that I’m going to return it; not just because now is not a good time, but because I found one that you will love more.
I want to tell you that we’re supposed to be together.

But you already know that.

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