The last few months
my memory has blanks
as though my brain’s got buckshot damage
and everything seeps slowly out of one hole
while I’m trying to patch another.
It’s like staying up late after a long day
and lying in bed thinking
about what you did that same morning
as the twilight of sleep grips you
and when you wake up
you have no idea
what you dreamed and what actually happened.
Sometimes entire days go missing
and I won’t even notice
unless someone mentions a conversation
I don’t remember having.
I have clothes on I don’t remember buying.
I have leftover food I don’t remember tasting.
I have books on the shelf I don’t remember reading.
But I can remember
from two weeks ago
the sweet mint on your breath
the first time you kissed me.
I can still feel
the cool closeness
of your forehead against mine.
I can still smell
the musk of your curls
the first time I tousled them with my fingers
after having spent a year imagining doing so
every time I saw you.
your warm palm against mine
and your fingers so long
that you could fold them back down
over the ends of my own.
our limbs intertwined
and our torsos pressed together
and the smiles
that crept across our faces
that night and for days after.
And even now
when the distance between us
because you’re scared
because you don’t love yourself enough
to love anyone else
has caused the twinge in my chest
and the vacancy in my days
to seem overwhelming
I don’t want to forget you.
And anyway, I can’t forget
the feeling of hope
that has pulsed through my veins
with every heart beat
since the first time you grinned at me.