Last night, as I laid down to sleep after a late evening spent in Bellingham at Trish's annual St. Patrick Day party, I thought of you. The way your hair felt on your temple, and how I loved to rub the scoop of it - how the hair was lighter in color there. I haven't thought about the intimate details of your physical presence in a long time.
And I cried. Hard.
This morning, I woke up with a missing you hangover.
Walking into work helped. It reminded me of a pleasant memory - exactly three years ago. When Coleman came up to visit and we walked to meet you. I took a photo of the two of you, stopping to smell the spring flowers. You are still missed. And loved.
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