Sunday dreaming; blue skies and patios and maple seeds scattered over the table. I read and warm my bare toes in the sun. I will finish this and make chicken piccata for supper. Lemon and capers and garlic and the last light of the day. 

My upper arms are bruised from helping my closest friend move yesterday. Everyone seems to be living in a state of flux this year. New jobs, new homes, new relationships. I am getting swept up in the tide. Another suitcase to pack, another airplane to board. Another round of apartment hunting and stress and tearing at my nails. I am trying to control everything in a life that seems to constantly want to veer out from under me. More goodbyes, more friendships stretched out and worn thin like an old t-shirt, the fabric all but exhausted from too many wears, too many washes. I can't keep shedding layers of my life like this. I can feel all the people I've left behind, let go of. Friendships that were important to me. People I truly loved and connected with. How is it that we can have these disposable relationships? Suited to us for a time then put away, back of the closet, revisited only when most convenient? 

I have these memories collected up of the friendships that have fallen behind. The long talks, the little stories and jokes, the walks and songs and meals; the exchange of things that were so important to us, at the time, that we thought would always mean something or bind us together in a unique way. Maybe that is the important thing about relationships though, or at least these ones that we've allowed to falter. The fact that we can recall the specific details that coloured what we had. A memento of the kinship we shared. A testament; a proclamation that once we were bound by time and circumstance. I will try not to forget.