You.

Like an old bathrobe

With no significance in the right now and  right here

Like an old blanket that provided warmth once a long time ago

Now worn through  ... only memories holding it together

Yes, like that, I still pull you out from a treasure box of sorts

I remember you like you probably never were

Only me, that is who I am looking for and all that I survived because of an idea that was you

I see your sepia tinged image, a twinkle of your eyes, a broad toothy smile

A simple joy of being there with my imagination of you

A cozy cocoon of foraged pieces of dry grass, some fly away wool and shreds of cotton from a near by cotton tree - that was the nest we lived in, the utopia of an imaginative mind that often has platinum resilience

Have I thanked you before, have I thanked you enough?

Let me do it now, ritual and all, let me put some incense and bring flowers too

Let me reminisce for a while, say a prayer or two

Then I can close the memory book and try to refrain, until I feel the need to pray for your presence again