I would lie and tell you I miss you but the truth is Brod, I don't.
The first few months since you left were hard but now, I can't even make out the shapes of your scars. Scars I once knew so well.
There's the one on your left calf, dark and chaotic from when you cut yourself on a rusty nail and got tetanus for a week.
The other one, the one your father gave you when you were 12, it irks me.
I remember it being on your back but as much as I close my eyes and tug on my mind, I just can't picture it anymore.
I cried, at first. Now, I'm content with you evading my mind in true slow-air-released-out-of-a-balloon fashion.
Your mother stopped by today. She brought me a cup of soup. She asked if I'd spoken to you lately, I lied and said yes. She's so sweet and delicate, I'll have to cut her off gently. The fact that she lives next door doesn't help but it's how we met in the first place, so I shouldn't complain..
Call your mother, she's lonely, she misses you.
We had our run, Brod. I don't know why we keep hanging on to this idea that's like watery soup on a hot day, unnecessary.
I loved you once, that is enough for all my lifetimes.
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