Socks

by jlolb

He whispered “you’re ridiculous” exactly as he had a thousand times before…just not recently. As each of those words bounced off of my memories of his crooked smile, his bright eyes and the curls in his hair when it got too long,  I felt again, exactly as I had year after year after year. Comfortable.  Calm.  Happy.

He said, “can I ask you something?”

“Please do.”

“When we’re old or whatever, what moment will you remember us by?  or how will you?”

And I said, “this one.  or the one where you showed up to take me to breakfast with coffee in hand, exactly how you knew I liked it–black.  Or the one when we were singing in the car at the top of our lungs.  Maybe a moment we don’t know yet, I guess I don’t know.”

And then I asked him the same question.

And he said, “There was one time, we were watching a movie.  And you fell asleep so I grabbed the blanket and covered you up.  I kissed you on the forehead.”

I think about the entire state that lies between us while I sit here, in his socks that I swore I would throw away…  How would I tell him.  I have to tell him. I think I decided in that very moment that I have to tell him…and I will.

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