I can see you in my car. In the ducks that sit on the dashboard. The way that they make me smile reminds me of you. In the sunroof that I have open 90 percent of the time to let the wind blow through my hair. The way that the sun shines down on me reminds me of all the times it shone down on us together. In the music that I usually play too loud. The songs that I scream to just because it’s fun, and the lyrics that put me right back to when I was with you. I can see you in my car, and I wish I didn’t.
I can see you in the river. In the boats that float down it and the water that crashes over the edges. The tears that river brings to my eyes are always for you. The way that I grin through the tears reminds me of the times we did it together. The way that we could laugh and cry at the same time and the way that the river bank became both our best friend and worst enemy at the same time. I can see you in the river.
I can see you in the sidewalks. In the cracks I step over and the way I run if it’s cold. As the cold air bites at my face, I remember you. The times we’d complain about the walk, and the times we’d pile into a car because it was just too cold. The talks we’d have on the way, and the games we’d play to make the walk seem faster. I can see you in the sidewalks.
I can see you in the chair. In the way that we always avoided it. The wall we sat against feels bare now, and the bricks no longer bring me the same sense of joy that they used to. The chair next to mine is a constant reminder of your absence. The smile that it used to bring to my face is gone. The talks we had and the stories we shared have been nearly reduced to dust in my mind. I can see you in the chair.
I can see you in her. In the way she talks and her laugh. Her joy never fails to bring a smile to my face, just like when it was your joy. Her words and her mannerisms match yours, and it makes me want to cry—whether or not they’re happy tears is still a question. We used to wonder about so many things, and now, she wonders about them too. Her questions make me think of the ones I asked you, and my answers mirror yours. I can see you in her.
The things I see you in surround me. Sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes I want to forget about you. I don’t want to be reminded. I don’t want to see you in every little thing I do. But the constant reminders of you are what keep me grounded. They’re what remind me to be myself and to not be you. I can see you, and it’s a constant reminder of what was and not what is.
I can see you in everything.
