(no subject)
could have,
would have,
should have.
eh.
you learn to stop needing after enough time passes.
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after enough time passes
you learn to forget details and presence,
or at least, i do;
the presence of familiar walls (that wall will hold faded tape marks, that wall will have newer paint, that wall is starting to peel in the corner)
the width and color of the room
the bed was on the right side, facing north
my curtains were of some sheer, translucent material
my blanket is cool and cottony, pale peach.
memorize.
the feel. the sight. the dimensions.
Presence.
In 2, 5, 10 years, those unimportant familiar details that make up my life will fade
and when i'm 40, i won't be able to recall the room i slept and lived in for 10 years.
the sound of my mother's voice, caring and sweet, inquiring about my day.
the gruff yet merry tones of my father, awkwardly leaving me a message on my phone.
my mother has sun spots along her cheeks and nose.
the scent of her facecream is slightly spicy.
my father's skin is rough, always rough.
his eyebrows sometimes get out of control, and he'll let me trim them.
the rough slide of stubble when he gives me a goodbye kiss.
will i forget this, too, in time?
will all the little things that make up a person fade,
until all that's left is a vague memory and hazy impression of who that person was?
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the longest voicemail that i kept was for about 3 weeks, until it was automatically deleted.
of my mother leaving an everyday message. her voice. intonation and inflections.
everything unique that i won't ever hear again when she passes.
i think, i wish i could encapsulate those things, preserve them so i can take them out when i'm old and grey so i remember i was this loved when i was this age.