I was sitting on my mother's bed in a black skirt and hobo-green jacket, much too large for me, on the line with Ryan. It seemed like a shoddy connection and I couldn't make out all that was said (because of my sniffling and silence and terrible phone), and at some point, became preoccupied with the scent streaming off the jacket. But I got a refresher on how he says things and what it's like to be his friend. How I can imagine where the back pats would go and when he would lean forward and pull himself away.
"I want you to hold on to that."
It's funny how things are so easily dismantled. I haven't been able to talk to you very much about the things that I'd like to, but please know that I think of you every day, please know I shuffled through my catalog of pictures the other night to find the one of you watching baseball stats in shock at a Sushi bar.
It is mounted on my screen.