I was wearing my glasses tonight, and staring in the mirror I was just remembering you-- the way you used to wear your glasses more often. We both did. When we were younger. Or you weren't that young, but I was just a kid and learning.
Thinking my hair was long or short, and you loved me either way.
Thinking you loved me when I smoked. We smoked.
Thinking you loved me when I drank and swore and when I hated you and I loved you. Thinking you remember what the inside of my heart looks like, and you remember the TV shows I used to like, and what music I can't stand, and you remember that way I like my name written on paper in your handwriting, how it makes me warm, and it makes me feel pretty.

I was thinking I should call you more often, thinking I read your letters so much, but they don't say anything to me when I'm trying to choke down coffee in the morning. Wondering if I'm hearing from you, or really just guessing what you would say if you had the type of smooth voice coming across the table to me. That maybe you'd sound like Tom Hanks? I hope you sound like Tom Hanks.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, where did you go, and who is the cheap person I replace you with from moment to moment. The lovely people who are not you.
I guess I mean that I adore you.
In a round about way. Could you come back?

-Rache