I thought about you today, but that’s not a surprise. I think about you everyday. Don’t worry, I took you off the pedestal I built for you a long time ago. Today, I realized though that I hadn’t thought about you since - only God knows how long. I don’t keep track. I mean, how far can I stress that I think about you everyday. Not the person you are now. Not even the idea of you. It’s only a memory. I don’t know why. I guess, the place in my brain where my memories are stored doesn’t communicate with where my emotions sleep because it has been a long and torrential time thinking about you. It doesn’t do anything anymore. I will dig and dig and dig for something to create something from the memories. You know, you look into your past where you have experienced something as complicated and simple as love so that you can create something emotional from it so that it can be real, like a story, or in this case a character. I can’t create from the memory of you. Not like I used to or at least not like I thought I could. I’m not choked up or hurting myself trying, there’s just nothing left. For a long time thinking about you made me sad. Then for an even longer time thinking about you made me mad. Thinking about you made me furious. I cried all the same. Just as I would like to think you did. I think of you now and it brings me to the same place it has before but something has changed the way I feel about it. I don’t really, like I said there’s nothing left and it’s not a bad thing. The place I bring myself to, the conclusion I come to is you probably don’t think about me. Remember me was all I could say because at the time I thought I was being a realist. I didn’t think I would never see you again, but I stressed that no matter what happened I only wanted one thing. That place in your memories. I might be blind to the real truth. I might not have known how you actually felt then nor how you feel now, but the one thing I wanted from you, I actually gave it to you. I gave you a home in my memory. I’ve tried to get rid of you by changing the person who you may or may not remember, but I remember you. I remember you everyday. It doesn’t affect me in anyway which is a shame but it doesn’t matter where I’m at you’re there too. I don’t know you now, but I did. In that place where memories sleep and rattle and play like an old slideshow I love you. My own memories play to the promise I asked you to keep. You’re far enough now, and the slideshow has played so many times I’ve memorized it. It’s played enough times for me to realize that’s all you are, a memory, and I don’t care to take the time to figure out what that is worth. So when I think of you, it’s not really you, nor is it the idea of you. And I’ve taken too much time just to figure that out.