i re-read your card today. “we’ve shared countless memories,” you wrote. so why can’t i remember a single one? well, there are the tiny insignificant ones – the time we made nachos and ate the leftovers for breakfast for the next three days. the time you missed my birthday but then drove six hours with dead roses just to say hi (you forgot how much i dislike roses). i remember the way you smelled when you were close to me. sometimes i can still smell you nearby.
and that’s where my memories end. except for one last one – i remember loving you, more than i loved anyone before or since. but i can’t remember what i loved about you. i don’t remember what we spoke about. i don’t remember what you stood for.
but i remember the feeling. i remember my body trembling like san francisco when i said goodbye. i remember my eye lashes feeling heavy from the weight of my tears.
how is it that i remember a feeling so strong, but nothing to back it up? i don’t remember why i loved you or how it started. was it a more infantile love than something i can experience now? more immature than my memories? more superficial than the dead roses?
whatever it was, i wonder if it even existed.
