I hope that when next winter comes around and the rain starts to roll

down on the hills into the sea, 

the rain smelling vaguely familiar through your open window screen,

You remember me

 

I hope that when summer begins to dawn and the 

sun rises earlier in the morning, unpleasantly waking you up

because you were never an early riser

You remember me. 

 

I hope that the next time you make breakfast, 

and you realize your coffee is two months too old, 

and you find the coffee I shipped to you 

sitting inside the upper cabinets above your refrigerator

You remember me.

 

I hope that the next time you make an international call

and you find my number hiding down the previously called list

with a log of the numerous times we just missed each other’s rings

You remember me. 

 

I hope that the next time you melt into the sands on a beach

and you see seashells scattered around you,

and the thought of the YouTube videos I made you watch comes to mind

You remember me

 

I hope that the next time you have Spotify on shuffle

and the random assortment of music I secretly added to your playlist

hums through your car speakers, 

You remember me. 

 

I hope that the next time you pick up someone from the airport

and you wait patiently, on the second level parking

and spot someone with the same green suitcase

You remember me. 

 

I find you everywhere I go, 

in my breakfast, in airports, in the music I listen to, 

and I will always hope that you 

find the same nuances being subtle reminders

so please, whatever you do, 

don’t forget me. 

 

This piece has been published on Thought Catalog. You can view the published version here. 

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