I Can’t Talk About You.

I can’t talk about you in the way I usually would with my best friend. I can’t talk about you in a past, present, or future tense without seeming like I’ve lost whatever marbles in my brain still remain.

I can’t talk about you, because you were a moment. A blip. A tiny, seemingly insignificant piece of my life. What was only a few days, felt like so much more. But if I say that, then I’m crazy.

I’m crazy if I say the man whose face I never saw is so clear when I close my eyes. If I say that only hearing your voice for a few seconds left butterflies that still erupt in my stomach 2 years later at the mere thought of it. If I say that the idea of finding you again leaves my skin covered in goosebumps. Or if i say that I still remember the tiny details; knowing you’re vegan, remembering your dog’s name, or where you grew up.

It’s not logical, and I’ve spent so long trying to make sense of something that simply doesn’t. I know you said goodbye. And I know why. And that reason isn’t a reason anymore.

But I can’t talk about you, because to anyone who didn’t live it the way I did, I seem absolutely insane. I think of you all the time. I could’ve loved you. And maybe, if we meet again, I’ll finally be able to.

My dearest professor, |\/|, I miss you.

-K