i remember the first time we rode the subway together and how i leaned in so close to your face.

i remember the smoky yellow walls of that apartment in paris, and the retched heat, and the white sheets.

i remember his smell, how i kept smelling my arms and didn't want to wash it off.

i remember that night when you said "it feels so good to want someone."

i remember the thunderstorms and fire flies at my uncle charlie's house in wisconsin.

i remember when i took my grandma ernie to wal-mart and pushed her wheelchair.

i remember waking outside in the thick lustrous mist of the new cuyama desert.

i remember loving you in spite of myself.