The Great Gatsby

Sometimes I like to imagine how wonderful it would be to go to the places we’ve never gone together — and I’m not talking about far away lands, or amazing vacations that we may never be able to afford, I’m talking about going to the supermarket and picking out our favorite foods to snack on and sneakinag them into the movies during the daytime where we would choose the emptiest theater not so that we could do the things that most people do in private, but so that we could feel like the whole room was a room of our own.

I’m talking about calling in sick and taking the whole day just to walk around the American Museum of Natural History or maybe the MoMA, where I would make you stand next to the “OOF“ painting and have you position yourself as a letter that wouldn’t even make any sense next to the painting because together, we don’t make sense, but deep down inside, that’s what made us our best.

I’m talking about walking into Battery Park (not Central Park because I know how much you hate uptown) and just laying on the grass sharing a pair of headphones listening to each other’s favorite songs and hating each other’s musical taste, but going along with it anyway, because it made us feel like we’re discovering pieces of each other we never knew about.

I’m talking about sitting, eating what could only be the best-falafels-in-the-world, on steps in front of someone else’s apartment like we lived there just because it was across from the food stand you kept insisting I needed to try out because somehow you knew it would be something I’d like, and maybe one day, we’d decide right there and then to ride all the subway lines from beginning to end together so afterwards, I’d have a story to tell; that you were the only guy who took me as far as the city would go and back and although it wouldn’t be all that far, I would still say you were the best traveling partner anyone could ever have.

I’m talking about you coming on an adventure with me in exploring my room, my bed, what it’s like to wrestle underneath my pixel-patterned sheets, or how it feels to be enveloped by the thousands of pillows I can’t sleep without.

I’m talking about how sometimes my imagination gets the best of me and runs away with the feelings of my heart and wishes I could have had all these experiences with you — because these made-up memories will never do. & with your sudden departure, it only leaves me wondering if it really could have been that good.