Reminiscence

I love all the things you've said, now that you're not around to say them anymore. 

I hate that you don't remember half of them. I hate that you think they only sound stupid. 

I love how your name crops up, deliciously and unexpectedly, in general conversation. 

I hate how it makes me start and stumble out explanations to upraised eyebrows 

who cannot fathom what we meant to us. 

I'm afraid you can't anymore either. 

If I asked you to stay, would you?