I remember the little things.
Your hand on the small of my back. The sideways grin you’d give me when you found something funny, something that you wanted to share. The laugh you made when you really properly laughed. The laugh I would aspire to create.
I remember small parts of you. The way you’d shrug of your jacket when you saw I was cold. Your fringe, which never stayed in place. The way you absentmindedly hummed while walking.
But I can never remember the whole of you. And maybe that’s for the best.