I wonder about you less and less. But still I wanted to know after three glasses. The night of the election. Two with dinner. The last one while curled up in the dark brown leather chair near the kitchen. You remember the one? I wanted to know. Were you still living in our tiny town? A question that fit like I’d worn it before. But we were younger the last time. By a few years. Two years can feel like ten when you’re 22. 25. 28 even. Are we still? Young I mean. Maybe just you. It felt better knowing things were the same as how I left them. But of course you had changed. I had too you know. A few greys turned many. They spread from the back to the front. I used to just have that one spot. I could hide it most of the time. Hide from it? Now it’s a long streak near the front of my face. Equidistant from each edge of the furrow in my brow. Is this the year I keep it? The little ridges in my face. I’m keeping those too it seems. The follicles minus their melanin. The little creases near the edges of my eyes. I still feel 17 most days.
