The Idea of You

It was late May. We had gone hiking along the coast. Up in the woods where the ancient spruce and cypress trees cut up through the mist and seemed to stretch up forever. As the sun set, we headed back down to the car. You wanted to see the ocean.

A week later I found the flannel that you had been wearing that day. It still smelled like you. It would be many more weeks before the scent faded completely and months more before I realized you were never really mine to lose. I didn't love you. I loved what you represented.