… and by sober I mean not in love… and if I was ever to happen upon falling in love with you consider yourself lucky because I write the best love letters… Shakespearean almost.
I don’t remember my past lives, or what I ate last night for dinner…
I don’t remember when you said you loved me
I don’t remember when you left
I don’t remember how much money I spent this week, or what it would be converted in yen
I don’t remember sunset walks or moonlit talks, strolls in the park, or road trips on never ending highways
I don’t remember what chicken cacciatore tastes like, or carrot cake frosting
I don’t remember what your kisses were like, or the scar you have underneath your nose… right above your lip
I don’t remember catching fireflies, or setting them free, or even walking underneath persistent rains
I don’t remember being rushed, nervous, or even scared… I don’t remember your heavy stare
I can barely recall our memories… but do remember being blank
I don’t remember feeling this empty. I don’t remember you.