How it moves

So I was lending this book to K the other night. It’s a book about Jackie O. Cultural studies. She and her mother saw the dresses at a museum once and she’s all about it. I met the author once right after I was of age. We were both drinking at a party in his honor. I spent the rest of the night in the corner, planning my escape route.
When I gave her the book I briefly flipped through the pages an realized I had stowed photos in between the pages. I think they are photos that you saw once: Amanda in bra and panties, Robert with more hair, Amanda’s prom picture etc. I think you tried to show my mother the more interesting of the photos once.
I took your picture once while you had on less clothes than that, and I believe you were un-encumbered with the whole thing. You don’t look happy, but not sad either. I don’t know. Those pictures are gone, but not in my mind. I can conjure with ease.
But tonight I first got weepy, like I can do at times, about Amanda again. It wasn’t the half naked pictures. It really was that prom photo. The one of her before I knew her, but the one that looks like her about the time I met her. I guess I am getting so old. I really knew her shortly after a prom photo? When did I come to know you? Seems like ages ago now.
The bra and panties was taken while on the Outer Banks. I used to take trips like that. I used to want to take trips like that. I wanted to take that trip with you, sans needing intimate photographic coverage. Those photos just make you think too much. They just make you want even when want is not what you need, because need and want are such different things, right?
Or are they. I sit here tonight looking at those photos and missing something I don’t desire any more, but desiring something that I have no photos immediately available of. I know it’s a broken record, but I wish you were here tonight. It gets lonely (yadda yadda yadda). I’ve got pictures in my mind. I wish when I went in that other room, there was more than loose sheets and pillows to discover.
I think of you in that way still, but mostly I think of you happy. Hopefully, I’ve said something that made things different, and the look you give moves all of the stars around the sky – at least a little.
I’m such a sap.