Memories don't work the way we expect them to. And memories don't last the way we rely on them to. We are constantly forgetting and misremembering and believing in a true past that is more fiction than anything resembling reality in the end. We remember what we want to when we want to and we change those memories when they don't suit us anymore. But as easy as it is to forget and misremember the past, the real and true past always finds a way of creeping back in and reminding us of who we were and how we are today.
Last weekend, half drunk off beer and fatigue, I made a spoon around a boy who came in and out of my life in less than a month and who I will undoubtedly misremember and probably romanticize in the coming weeks. It was either too late or too early, and my room was so dark I could only make out a faint silhouette against his heavy breathing. Never saying much between bottles and kisses, this boy could barely be called a friend. But in that moment, when his breathing gave way to a light snore and he kicked once no twice in his sleep, he was suddenly him and I was transported two years back into a bed and a room I hardly think of anymore. My hand found its way alongside his belly, and I moved in closer, pressing my cheek to his back like all those times before. But he was not him and all those times before only existed in a room twenty minutes away and memories and memories ago.
And although I knew all this, and even though I don't want to relive that past one bit anymore, the simple comfort of hugging in sleep brought with it memories and feelings I thought were well buried for the time being. A relationship is still in no way the name of the game these days, but perhaps falling asleep to a warm back may be something worth getting used to again.