some days, i remember you how i want to. i remember the lilt of your mouth when speaking fast, the bones of your shoulder pressed against mine. i remember the solidarity of the hairs against your neck and that overwhelming constellation in my heart when you smiled.

some days, i remember you how you were. i remember your silent disappointment set in the curve of your spine, the empty coffee cup i paid for screaming at me when you got up and left. i remember your fingers around my neck, no purpling bruises like how it felt but pain just as real and present as if you were the one who put it there and not just a message on a screen.

storm clouds roll in my stomach, heavy clouds and dark horizons and i no longer love thunder.