missing him

I was steaming vegetables and I thought about him.
Broccoli always makes me think about him.
It had been, what? Nearly a year since I'd heard from him and yet there I was pajama clad in my kitchen, looking at frozen broccoli and thinking about him.

I wonder if there's anything that makes him think of me?

He lived on frozen vegetables.
And he loved broccoli the way most people love chocolate.
He'd eat it raw and act like it was mana from heaven.
He'd scramble eggs and throw it in his bowl of vegetables and I'd never known anyone to do that before.
He'd look at me and smile as he inhaled his bland concoction, just sitting there, happy as a clam.

He was one strange, tall, skinny man.

But it made me shake my head in amusement being reminded of him.

Just yesterday watching Jane Eyre made me think of another him.
My Mr. Rochester, my ill fated love affair.
Only as far as I knew he wasn't blind and still maintained all his appendages.
But he certainly still thought about me.
This. I. knew.

I wonder what things make him think of me?
And if I ever bombard his thoughts during dinner.
Or just late at night.

And remembering the other him's made it somehow easier to miss the him that had been merely a page when I'd longed for him to fill a chapter.

I suppose my fever made me delirious.

And may all my fallen princes find an extra struggle in closing their eyes tonight.....
recalling the lovelies they allowed to slip from their fingertips.