A History of Us By Various Things

Over-sized sweater. He has an abundance of these, keeping them scattered among his things on the floor of his bedroom. Their appearance being their downfall, comfort and warmth their redeeming qualities. If he is not wearing one of his baggy sweatshirts than you are sure to find him wrapped in some other large, cozy thing, such as a blanket. His skin, and demeanour, always warm to the touch as a result.

Towels. Despite the apparent disorder in which he keeps everything, he is very particular about the place in which the towels are kept.

Glasses. An ability to hold onto objects which are clearly in need of repair or disposal is eminent in the case of his glasses. The wire frame was bent years ago in one of our first few passionate encounters and still, i never fail to find him leaning back in the recline of his leather lazy boy with a video game controller in his hands, staring down his nose through the lenses, like an old librarian, at the animated soldiers on screen.

Condoms. A constant reserve in his backpack. The micro-thin barrier that protected and separated us from each other. Me from his heavy load, him from the flooding wetness. Always discarded and replenished in the same fashion.

Model Cars. The thin lining of dust can attest to the rare usage of these toys. Yet they maintain their place on the majority of the few shelves in his room. When I first knew him, I found them lined up like a makeshift showroom. Now they sit atop one another in collision.

Ketchup. His ability to smother new flavours with sweet tomato always astounded and disgusted me. His strong dislike for tomatoes themselves was even more unfathomable.

Eyes. I never questioned these. Pure white shrouded only by deep pools of blue and green sincerity.

Busses. Our destinations within Toronto and beyond, almost always journeyed by one bus or another. His eyes always bright at the start, full of anticipation. An hour later shielded by drooping eyelids.

Weed. Forced complacence in times of stress. His desire for familiarity and comfort exceeding my need for progress and change.

Dishes. Regardless of how many dishes I had in the sink I could always locate his within seconds. Discarded haphazardly among the pile with distinct red stains. Cutlery abandoned atop, remnants of the meal he most recently enjoyed stuck to the prongs of his fork.