I was folding up the striped bath towel you bought on one of your trips to the States. You went to Target to replace the one we lost to the downed motorcyclist. That way we would have two matching bath towels. When you came home and unpacked we saw that the towel didn’t match AT ALL, wrong color, wrong stripes. In your mind it had been the striped towel that we had. And the fact that it was so obviously mismatched  struck us as funny and we had one of our little laughing meltdowns. We had those a lot. Hysterically giggling at something the two of us shared.

Maybe you exist in some dimension where you haven’t died and we live together still. Maybe we still laugh together. Or maybe you live in still another dimension and we were never together. Alternate universes.

I miss you.