We are a Memory I Dreamed

I have been mourning the loss of what could have been. I had begun weaving together our story, pulling together the matched threads.

I don’t remember quite how it began — I mean, I don’t know what words were first written. But then you were there, one evening, frame fitted within my phone: a mustached man at his desk, dog sleeping offscreen. How did I look to you, seated on the floor, cat curled on the couch behind me? Did I look like something from your dreams?

Then you became a series of digits on my phone, a string of numbers I smiled to see. Your messages…