Ms Esseffe.

Everyday I miss the things in front of me more, and more. 

The 73 degree summer days that people yearn for then complain about, and eating creme fraiche and olive oil ice-cream at Dolores Park. Cupid’s Span, and the smell of the Pacific Ocean only interrupted by garlic fries from afar. AT&T Park home of torture and tears, off-key anthems, and Giant memories. aka the most beautiful baseball stadium this side of the Mississippi.

Great highway runs at Sunset, with the wind in my hair and sand under my feet. Skipping rocks towards a horizon of infinite possibilities. Clean air. Gold blooded. Metal dinosaurs, and familiar faces. Ones I see right through regardless of how big their smiles are.  The obvious.

And then … the not so obvious.

Like, driving Kirby. Over familiar roads, and crossing the usual streets. Feeling the ground if it was a second skin, knowing the city like the back of my hand yet still getting lost in its beauty. Strolling down the street, because I’m in no rush. Looking towards the sky, and looking down below. Remembering walkways I’ve been through, and front doors I’ve been dropped off at. The view I’m looking at right now. Green glass, blue skies. Grey fog, and white lies. Every block has a story, and I read through chapters as fast as I write them.

Most of all, last minute happy hours. Last minute anything. Inconvenient, convenient lunch breaks. “What are you doing, I’m bored,” texts. Hungover brunches with endless mimosas. Planned dinners, and especially the unplanned. Calls at 2am, because we’re happy. Calls at 2am, because we’re sad.

They say you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone. Why wait? Embrace the hugs, accept the kisses, and let him hold your hand.  I know what I have, do you? 

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