I think of you sometimes. I think of how we met and how we use to laugh and talk for hours. I think of how we just wanted to be in each other’s presence. I think of how you would sit in my lap on the couch and command my attention over the tv or anything else. I think of how just feeling you against me completed me and made me desire no other thing. I think of the evenings we spent cooking. I think of you standing at the stove top cooking spaghetti and promising me it was a special receipe your step-mother made. I think of staring at you and thinking how beautiful you were in the cheap Dollar General sun dress you had bought.