ThatEnglishGirl111

He used to like makizushi. I remember, in the crystal clear way that so often comes with that emotion closer to obsession than anything else. How many useless him-facts will I forever have stored away in some special pocket of my mind? (He likes makizushi; he doesn’t always like strawberries; his left eyebrow comes down lower than his right when he glares; his left index finger brushed my right ring finger on the fourth day of April.) Too many; far too many.

But the makizushi is a worthy fact to remember, one that I am not ashamed to keep cataloged. Because him with an affinity for a type of food is a him with an affinity. With a like. With an emotion based on something other than indifference or hate.

In the long time he was just gone, I whispered,

If you can like a food, you can like a person. People. The world.