Latitude

I didn’t pay attention to the timing of the storm not this one or the last one if we’re recalling correctly. Maybe once you’ve seen enough of them you start to anticipate less or lose the fear or become more attached to the routine avoidance. I’m not sure which one it was this time. I’ll let you choose but first tell me the story about your two-year stint on the east coast because that never gets old. You said it was nice or maybe that your tiny town was terrible but less terrible than you imagined it would be. Am I telling it right? Everything from the last time we spoke feels foggy like my vision first thing in the morning or even later that morning. There’s only a precious window midday when things feel right. Enough air and moisture seeping in and out of the flexible plastic for me to see with the possibility of accuracy. Does it still gross you out to watch me slide them off with my fingertips? I’m forgetting every detail like we swore we wouldn’t. Even the way your glasses fit my face didn’t fit my face. The way they felt barely hanging on mostly sliding north and south latitude not longitude? The contrast in temperatures skin against metal I don’t know why that’s what I’m most nostalgic for right now earlier today plus a few other times I’ve erased from memory. You don’t need a reason to subconsciously or consciously reconstruct a feeling. That’s what I keep telling myself. I wore mine in the snow first thing into the peak of the flurries up against the sharp sweeps of wind. Enough exposure to feel the freeze from behind my coat.