23:33
i still remember
how to get to your place
like the back of my hand.
i watched you get up
from your seat at the dinner table.
i watched you rip open
the top half of the chip-filled brown bag.
i watched you sprinkle salt on them—
way more than your own preference.
and then we sat,
for about an hour or so,
eating dinner together,
filling each other in
on what the other person had missed
since our parting.
it wasn’t until the end of our meal
that i realized—
you hadn’t eaten a single chip.
in fact,
you hardly ever did.
and that’s when it hit me.
you’d gotten up to do it all for me.
because i love a simple chip,
and i’ve always complained
about how they’re never salted enough.
you remembered how i like my chips—
just like how i remembered
how to get back home
to you.
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