why haven't i read those books yet? they sit there between wooden cats, collecting dust and fur. i need to pick one of them up soon.

i haven't been to the ocean in months. my car used to smell of salt, and a peaceful layer of sand covered the harsh black carpeting. i need to get back there sometime. winter waves are spectacular.

it's been so long since i've been hiking. i miss the feeling of my feet grasping the sides of that mountain. i remember the smell of the wire on my hands; if i didn't hold that wire, i would have become part of that waterfall. oh, and that waterfall and the many times i removed my shoes and rolled up my pants to cross it. he was always waiting on the other side, reaching his hand out for me to anchor myself.

and then there's that rocky beach at biddeford pool. nothing but rounded, shiny rocks for a mile. i'd leave with pockets full of stones, pretending that each one had a meaning of it's own.

those simple nights, where only the little things mattered. those are what i need. i put my hand on the trunk of the car, next to his. it was a dewy night, so prints were left. that was when the little things were mentioned.

i could try to tell you that i had forgotten these things, but i'd be lying. i don't know what that means. maybe nothing. maybe something. maybe.

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