I thought of you today, a couple of times, in a bathroom in a coffee shop. There was a picture on the wall of this bathroom that made me think of you. It didn't make any sense for this picture to be here in Montana, but there it was. I studied it, even after I was done, after the toilet had stopped flushing. I thought about how I would describe it to you, if we were talking. I wondered what you would think of the picture. I didn't even have words for the things I would have wanted to describe. You would have known the words, but I didn't. I thought about trying to bring the picture home to show you, and how nice it would be to sit with you and point to things and have you explain them to me, naming and speculating and telling me stories all at once.
We didn't do that enough. I'm uncomfortable sometimes, asking questions, even when I really want to know. I like being taught, but I'm scared to be seen as dumb, I guess.
It made me homesick, this picture in the coffee shop bathroom. And it made me miss you. You're a long way away these days. I hope you like what you're seeing. I hope one day you'll tell me all about it.