massive little recollections

You remember the name of the restaurant.

Five years with no contact later.

Two lost kids, giggling over a dish you chose.

I was beginning to let myself really fall into you.

Finding myself while I found you.

My first Cafe Nero cold brew, on outdoor cushions. I pass by that shop and still think of you – a stable reminder of an almost over the years. In fact, a date in present time nearby and I walk in to meet a new man with you on my psyche like a super glued sticky note.

A 2pm sunshine walk to the bleachers where you showed me your tattoo and we touched for the first time. Sun setting into a dinner, your tentative mentions of marriage in the military that now display obvious intent. How could I admit that I could see it then?

Was it five dates? More than I even remembered.

There was an intangible shift that night at said restaurant – comfort? We spoke less, breathed more. I felt uneasy, though, with an understanding only granted by the sting of hindsight – your fear.

My heart sank, lungs constricted when you casually mentioned your next 3-year assignment. I hadn’t considered a departure. You began to mention it more often.

How could I possibly admit I can’t bear to see you go, after just a month? I buried it.

Dinner, then a stroll outside turned passionate expression of care in the office park. Risky. A second time in your car.

Your legs were shaking while you stood outside and we laughed.

The outdoor dining complex where we got our assigned blue/pink “boy and girl” colored straws. Dinner turned romantic walk, turned more drinks.

Elevated trust.

Bathroom breaks, my phone in your hand and yours in mine. Nothing to hide except feelings.

Each time driving home in bliss, back to reality of motherhood.

Another shift. I was losing you – was I not sexy enough? You asked for a picture of my face. A stark shift with a “that’s better” affirmative.

Less and less, and me spiraling. A date at the park, rushed this time.

You let me walk, and it was the right choice for the time.

But I remember everything.

From 2020 to 2025 your aftermath haunting me on the most mundane of errands.

Doctor’s appointments near your base.

New dates at or near OUR dates.

Fleeting memories, longing, ache.

I looked for you everywhere, in everyone else.

Did you too?

I remember everything.

And you remember the name of the restaurant.

Please don’t let me walk this time.