1. I never told you, but I wanted to hang a framed print of the mathematical value pi on a wall in my old apartment. We could stare at it in the mornings after our evenings together. I would have been able to solve the next few digits before we forsake the bed for breakfast. The poster never made it, of course. These days, what I want is a tattoo of the Fibonacci sequence on my left wrist.
2. The real problem with silences is that they are not empty, they take on the guise of nothing, the beauty and romance of absence. We once talked about parenthetical clauses, those unuttered phrases which we leave out, when we tell our wishes, dreams, desires. How these string of ghost words are vanished willfully by prudence.
We had each a cup of coffee, a blank map of the United States between us. I watched your pen travel from Washington to Vermont, leaving a trail of state and capital names.
This memory is parenthetical, too. But like everything else omitted from the grand design of spoken words, it finds, at last, a place in the safety and distance of remembrance.
3. You were hot with fever, sweat trickling down your nape, shoulders, arms. You sat on the bed, refused to lie down, recited to me your temperature in Kelvin, Fahrenheit, Celsius. You wanted me to believe you were fine. I wanted to believe we were.
* photo is from the movie “Eternat Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” starring Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet