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I spent 200 qatari riyals reminiscing about you last night.

I was meant to be doing Pilates, yet I found myself stopping mid-rollup to tell my instructor something awesome about you.

We talked about you. About your electricity. About your vibe. About your “live and let live” approach to life. About your “joie de vivre”. About your spirituality. About your love.

We never referred to you in the past tense.

And this morning Facebook memories sent me a picture reminding that you’d passed, that you were no longer here, on this Earth, of this realm.

Silly Expat Me.

I remember you.

I miss you.

I forget you’re gone.

I forget that you’ve been gone for five years.

I forget the day I got that phone call.

I remember the good. I remember your laugh. I remember your gaze.

I forget that you’re gone.

I was here. You were there.

I am here. You are there.

Wherever “there” is.

I’m lucky. A lucky expat. I was here. You were there. We were apart. We were so close.

We’re still apart. We’re still so close.

I am here. Your are there.

I loved you. I missed you.

I love you. I miss you.

I am here. You are there.

Always, I miss you.

Always, I am here.

Always, you are there.

Watching over me.

Last night, doing Pilates, I didn’t realize it had been five years.

But you were there. And I think you must have been tickling me, whispering in my ear. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, talking about you.

And this morning, Facebook reminded me that it had been five years since that fateful phone call.

I was here.

You were no longer there.

But you were.

But you are.

Always.

You are there.

You are here.

I love you.

I miss you.

Thank you for being here.

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