“Do you remember what happened that day?”
I do.
I remember your smell,
the shape of your hands,
the things you said,
the cold October breeze
that slipped beneath my skin.
I remember the wet leaves beneath me,
their softness against the earth,
the grey sky above us,
the way the world kept turning
as though nothing had happened.
I remember everything.
Everything
except your face.
Were your eyes blue?
Or were they brown?
Was your hair short,
or did it fall past your ears?
I don’t remember.
And isn’t that strange?
How the mind can bury a face
but keep the smallest things alive..
a voice, a scent, a season,
the sound of leaves beneath your feet.
Tell me,
do you remember my face?
I hope you don’t.
You don’t deserve to.
You don’t deserve the privilege
of carrying me in your memory,
of knowing what I looked like
before that day became a shadow
I could never outrun.
But I cannot forget you.
You play inside my head
like a song I never chose,
a record skipping on the same cruel line,
over and over,
over and over,
over and over again.
I hate October.
I hate the smell of strangers
who remind me of you.
I hate the touch of wet leaves,
the cold wind against my skin,
the sound of a voice
that almost sounds like yours.
I hate that I find you everywhere
when I wish I could find you nowhere.
I hate that the world is full of things
that belong to no one
and yet somehow belong to you.
Tell me,
do you think about it, too?
Does it visit you in October?
Does a familiar scent stop you in your tracks?
Do you ever hear your own words
echo back at you in the dark?
Or did you simply forget?
Did you leave that day behind
like a coat you no longer needed,
while I have spent so long
trying to take mine off?
I hope you remember.
I hope the memory finds you
when the nights grow cold.
I hope you feel the weight of it,
the shame,
the guilt,
the unbearable knowledge
of what you did.
I hope you understand
that some things do not end
when the moment passes.