Max Fish

We wonder if you can hear us sometimes. Like when we’re telling stories in a small space or sitting across from each other on the wooden bench at our favorite bar. The one with the staircase by the front door veiled in neon pinks and blues. You would have liked what they did this year. Tiny trees hung from root to tip, dangling from the ceiling like everything’s been flipped on its head or maybe we’re the ones who flipped. I read that’s good for you don’t forget to look up. I took a few photos in case you missed it I hope you didn’t miss it. That’s what I meant earlier we keep searching for proof. Small signs you’re still here we’ll believe it when we see it I think we just saw it. Sitting on the couch deciding which photo to hang above the rest do you remember which song we were playing? You swept by moved the air in the opposite direction. Something dimmed then lit back up again you would have had to be there. I had your crystal in the palm of my hand while Molly warmed up last night’s dinner if you aren’t careful its sharp edges can leave a mark will leave a mark. It’s flawed and beautiful and just as I remember it to be.