I remember the first time I said your name,
and I wondered how sounds can roll off tongues like raindrops can roll down windshields and spell out the things I can't say but I can feel, like how kids roll around in fields because it makes them feel good, and how dogs roll around with kids in fields because it makes them feel good, or how cats roll around wherever they want because they're cats and they feel like it,
or how I write really long pointless metaphors because they make me feel good. And the point is, I really like the feeling of your name on my lips.
And I remember the first time I heard your voice,
and how it was sweeter than any symphony I'd ever heard, and how it sometimes reminded me of birds and how they don't always fly in a straight line, because your symphony never played in a straight line unless you were singing. And even then I loved how it felt on my ears, especially when you said you would always be here.
I remember the first time I looked into your eyes,
and I wondered how oceans could fit into such a small space,
and I wondered how oceans didn't always have to be blue,
and I wondered if oceans would always make me think of you.
And even when your oceans were stormy, I knew that the waves would die down and the skies above the oceans in your eyes would hold the most beautiful sunsets I'd ever seen,
and I wondered if sunset would always be my favourite time of day.
I remember the first time you held me in your arms
because I was missing home, and your arms felt like the warmest home I'd ever known. And even now I sometimes miss that home and the way your arms would tell me everything is alright, and the way your oceans would surround me, and I wouldn't feel like I was drowning anymore.
I remember the night you were worlds away when you called me and said that you were afraid.
You didn't have to say it for me to know that you were afraid of yourself.
I remember how I could hear the oceans in your eyes running over, and I could hear your sunset skies getting cloudy.  
I remember how your symphony had off notes because one of the violins was broken and your oceans running over got everyone's music wet.
I remember letting your name roll off my tongue, and how it felt like a tank was rolling over my heart when your broken symphony rolled off
"I'm sorry, I just can't live like this anymore. I love you. Goodbye."
And I remember the oceans in my eyes spilling over until they ran dry, and screaming to a dial tone symphony that you can't leave me like this, because you promised you would always be here.
You promised.
I remember how there wasn't a sunset that night.
How, a year later, I still wish that you were only sleeping the last time I saw you.
A year later, when I pick up the phone I still wish it would be your symphony playing on the other end, because that sound was sweeter than any words I could ever write for you, but I'll write them anyways so maybe you'll know that a year later, when I see oceans I still think of you.
When I'm missing home I still think of you.
When I hear symphonies, I still think of you.
And I hope you know that a year later, sunset is still my favourite time of day.