So, I guess I’ll think of you
My best friend texted a few days ago. After driving home from her ex’s house, she said, “Left at 3 AM as he was asleep, drove an hour and a half home as I thought…what am I doing, reminiscing on your words. Your authenticity brought me to tears on my drive home, recognizing my worth.”
I had a lot to say to her
I had a lot to write
And much to do
But still, I thought about you
I met a girl last summer. She lives 1,561 miles away but for 2 weeks, she slept in my bed and used my shampoo. Our relationship remained unlabeled for months, distance and time were not in our favor. We both knew that ultimately, we as a pair solely thrived on ‘What ifs’. What if we lived closer? What if we had met another way? For me, it was much easier to accept its unavoidable ending.
At that point, there wasn’t much to say
Not a lot to write
And almost nothing to do
But go back to thinking of you
I made a short film last fall. I rounded up 5 of my closest friends and traveled to an abandoned ski slope in Nebraska. My car battery died while we were there. Our allergies were bad from all the grasses and grains. The actresses practiced their dialogue inspired by the last few texts you and I shared.
And I still have so much to say
But I’d rather not write
Or have nothing else to do
But think and make art about you
My parents are worried I’m not doing enough out here. They question why I decided to stay in this town if there’s nothing providing me with stability or routine any longer. School is over, my friends have moved, my job waits for me elsewhere. Now I start to question why I stayed here.
Just figuring out what I would say
And how to write
And try not to prove
That all I really do
Is think about you
This is not to manifest you; if anything, it’s to manifest my truth. The more these words remain trapped behind my defense of denial, the less of me learns how to grow. The more I allow myself to yearn for who I thought you could be is the most disrespect towards my past self who actually suffered with the real you.
So, then who is it that I think about?
If it’s not just me trying to regain that version of who I was
That version of how I used to write
That version of what I used to do
All before I met you.
Iowa City, IA
Spring, 2026