I remember your hoodie, and I remember your smile.

I know; it may not seem like much, but remembering is hard for me now, sometimes - a lot of things are hard for me now. I sit alone in diners and coffeeshops, watching other people avoid my eyes. They judge me for the proud swell of my belly; the judgement harshens for my being alone, and being aware of it.

Or maybe, though you are miles and miles away, they are judging you, like they know the blue of your eyes or the scabs on your knuckles.

I raise my hand to my throat, where I used to wear your dogtags. A new necklace hangs there now - pretty, meaningless.

You taught me to promise. You taught me to believe.