We sit enjoying this moment.
“Are you enjoying this moment?” I whisper.
Smoke clears the airway between us. I smudge what looks like dirt on your rug.
My feet are cold.
“I can’t sleep” I tell you.
“So share something.” You say - “a memory”
I pause, and reply:
“Back then. In the days when I slept with the lights on.
I remember thoughts - like the ones i’m having now - streams of syllables - always going. never slowing.
I remember, ketchup and chinese food. Songs that went on for days. Jokes between us - me and my imaginary friend. Buckets full of frogs I’d catch. Caterpillars and centipedes.
The TeePee my mother built as a tent. Igloos - made up on my living room floor. Tea parties (minus the tea).
I remember a time when my father would cradle my toes. So small.
I remember what it was like when television was a privilege.
